


Knot in My Heart

by variablestar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variablestar/pseuds/variablestar
Summary: There’s a picture.  Kenma blinks, looking at the little calico cat, being held up next to the face of a guy with stupidly messy hair and a crooked grin.Cute.The— the cat.  The cat is cute.Just the cat.Kuroo starts spending a lot of time at the flower shop Kenma works at.  Kenma definitely isn't into him.





	Knot in My Heart

**I LOST MY FUCKING CAT**

> _His name is Pit but he’s a bitch and doesn’t respond to it, but I still love him anyway, and I would really like to have him back._
> 
> _¥2,000 Reward_
> 
> _+XX-X-XXXX-XXXX_

 

* * *

 

**CREATE NEW CONTACT**

NAME: cat guy

MOBILE: +XX-X-XXXX-XXXX

 

[SAVE]            CANCEL

 

**CONTACT CREATED**

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s seen the missing cat signs everywhere. They’re all down the street near the flower shop Kenma works at, and littered around on buildings and lampposts in all the blocks surrounding it. He’s got the number saved, just in case he _does_ happen to find the cat. He’ll probably make Yamamoto or Semi call, but the point is, he _has_ it.

 

            The thing is, it’s been weeks, and the signs are still up, and Kenma’s getting concerned that the cat’s still missing. That the cat’s not going to be _found_.

 

            “Just _call_ ,” Semi says from his spot on the floor behind the counter. He’s been arranging valentine’s bouquets for hours, and Kenma would feel bad for him, if it wasn’t Semi.

 

            “Does he know how?” Atsumu muses. He’s leaning on the other side of the counter, flipping through the shop’s catalog. “Never even seen him answer the store phone.”

 

            “Phone calls are stupid,” Kenma says. “I don’t want to.” His legs are swinging from where he’s seated on the stool, playing a game on his phone. He keeps coming just a little too close to kicking Semi in the side of the head. They haven’t had a customer in over an hour.

 

            “Text him,” Atsumu says.

 

            “I’m not going to—“

 

            “Oh, _there’s_ an idea!” Semi cuts in. He makes a grab for Kenma’s phone, but Kenma turns to hold it out of his reach, locking it for good measure. “Come on, don’t be a bitch. You want to know about the cat, there’s your solution.”

 

            “Getting a text from an unknown number about a cat is weird,” Kenma argues. “He’ll think it’s _weird_.”

 

            “He wouldn’t have put his number up if he wasn’t okay with messages,” Atsumu counters. He pulls the phone from Kenma’s hands before he can dodge it, and Kenma turns to glare at him. “Oh, you have him as _cat guy_ , that’s sweet. What about — okay, Kenma, hitting’s rude, learn some manners — what about just asking if he found it? That sounds good, don’t you think, Eita? _Kenma, that hurts_.”

 

            “Specify that you’re talking about the cat,” Semi says, cutting a length of ribbon. “Just saying _did you find it_ would actually be creepy.”

 

            “Obviously,” Atsumu snorts. Kenma makes to swat at him again, but he steps out of his reach. “ _Did you ever find your cat?_ That’s good. What do you think, Kenma? Good?”

 

            “I could so easily get poisonous flowers in here,” Kenma grits out. “Your brother wouldn’t miss you at all.”

 

            “Oh, see, _that_ hurts,” Atsumu says, sounding not at all like he’s actually offended. “You really cut me deep, Kenma. I was going to let you be the one to send the message, but you know what, you’ve lost that privilege. I’m too wounded to even _consider_ it anymore.” He makes sure Kenma can see the screen as he hits the send button, and Kenma slumps onto the counter. He rests his chin on the cool surface and glowers at Atsumu.

 

            “I bet Osamu would _help_ me,” he mutters. Atsumu grins and slides the phone back at Kenma, but Kenma doesn’t make a move to pick it up. “If not him, Kentarou.”

 

            “Please keep Kyouken out of this,” Atsumu pouts. “He really would help. He’s still mad about the poppies.”

 

            Semi snorts and glances up from his roses. “He’s got every right to be. Those may as well have been his children, and you crushed them beyond saving. I’m surprised he hasn’t already slipped something in your morning coffee.”

 

            “ _It wasn’t my fault._ “

 

            Kenma and Semi don’t hesitate in replying, “Yes it was.”

 

            “Whatever. _Whatever_. I don’t need this, I’m going to check on the tulips.”

 

            Kenma doesn’t turn to watch him slip into the back room, and Semi keeps working silently.

 

            Maybe the text won’t go through, or maybe he won’t see it. Maybe Kenma will get lucky and he’ll ignore the message entirely, and Kenma won’t ever have to worry about this cat guy being annoyed by it. He’s at least grateful Atsumu didn’t make it anything extraordinarily weird, like he did to Yamamoto when he was debating whether or not to send a text to the girl in his history course.

 

            His phone sounds off with a new message.

 

            “What’s it say?” Semi asks, not looking up. “ _What kind of monster sends a text message?_ “ Kenma scowls at the back of his head. “ _Who do you think you are to ask about the cat I posted signs about all over town?_ “

 

            Kenma lightly nudges Semi’s head with the toe of his shoe and reaches for his phone, swiping to unlock it. “Does Atsumu know you’re in love with his brother?”

 

            He half listens to Semi’s threat against him ever bringing that up ever again, most of his attention on the message that is, in fact, from Cat Guy. There’s a picture. Kenma blinks, looking at the little calico cat, being held up next to the face of a guy with stupidly messy hair and a crooked grin.

 

            _Cute_.

 

            The— the cat. The cat is cute.

 

            Just the cat.

 

            Kenma glances down at Semi, who’s still paying him no mind, and he can’t hear Atsumu coming back over. He taps out a reply to the short _I did!_ that accompanies the photo.

 

            _I’m glad._

 

            He hesitates for half a second before sending it, and then he changes his phone password to avoid Atsumu trying to pull the same stunt twice. He stares down at the screen, just for another minute, waiting to see if another message comes through. When there’s nothing, he tucks his phone back into his pocket, drops off the stool, and settles down next to Semi to help with the bouquets.

 

            There’s a few days where Kenma’s still thinking about it. Every so often, his phone will light up with a new notification, and there’s a small part of him wondering if it’s the guy with the cat. He thinks about sending something else, but for one thing, he doesn’t know what he’d even _say_. And for another, _why would he?_ He already knows everything he wanted to when Atsumu sent the text off. There’s no reason for him to still be thinking about it. And then—

 

            “Watch your step.”

 

            Yamamoto tugs on Kenma’s sleeve to keep him from tripping over an uneven part of the sidewalk, and Kenma barely glances away from his game. He’s nearly back to where he was before Terushima messed up his save file.

 

            “So—“

 

            “No.”

 

            “ _Kenma_. You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Yamamoto puts an arm out so that Kenma doesn’t walk out into the street, and they stop to wait for the signal to cross. “ _So_. Did you ever call the guy about his cat? Text him?”

 

            Kenma glances up from his game. “I texted him. The cat’s fine, he sent a picture.” He looks away from Yamamoto, glances over to the lamppost beside him where there should be a poster advertising the lost cat — where it’s been for the last three weeks — but it’s gone. And standing next to where it’s supposed to be—

 

            “Oho? You’re the one who sent the text?”

 

            He’s _tall_. Tall and smiling down at Kenma wide and earnest, holding a pile of torn down cat fliers. Kenma silently nods.

 

            “Nice to actually meet you then! I’m Kuroo, AKA owner of the biggest asshole of a cat you’ve ever seen.” There’s something of an amused lilt to his voice. There’s a part of Kenma that kind of wants to like him.

 

            “Kozume. Kenma. Kozume Kenma.” He can feel Yamamoto staring at him, and he nearly turns to tell him to _stop_ , because talking to someone new is hard enough as it is, he doesn’t need Yamamoto watching him like a damn _hawk_ the whole time.

 

            Kuroo has a nice smile.

 

            From behind Kenma comes a loud, “Yamamoto,” and Kuroo jumps just a little bit, like he hadn’t even realized Kenma wasn’t alone. He offers a wave after a moment, realizing he ought to say hello to him, too.

 

            “You know,” Kuroo says, looking back to Kenma, “if you ever wanted to meet the bastard, I work at the coffee shop across the street. He’s in there most days.” He holds up one of the fliers, where his cat’s picture is blown up right in the middle of the page.

 

            “Kenma’ll absolutely be by to see him,” Yamamoto says, and Kenma shoots him a glare. “Can’t resist pretty _cats_ , you know? ’t’s close, too, we work in the flower shop at the end of the block!”

 

            “Is that so?” Kuroo’s still watching Kenma, looking far too amused. Kenma decides Yamamoto’s on the hit list, too, right below Atsumu. “Good to know.” The light switches to signal it’s safe to cross the road, and Kuroo takes half a step closer to the street. “I’ve got to get going — tons more of these fliers to pull down. But I’ll see you around, yeah?”

 

            Kenma manages a nod before Kuroo’s turning away and walking off. He looks to Yamamoto, who’s grinning, and shoves at his shoulder.

 

            Yamamoto laughs. “What? I’m not blind, and you’re not subtle.”

 

            He has no idea what he’s talking about. None. At all.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Oi. You making deliveries or watching the counter?”

 

            Kenma wrinkles his nose at Kyoutani. He doesn’t really want to do either. He wants to stay in the back room taking care of the orchids. Deliveries mean having to answer all the extra, repetitive questions customers always have, and watching the counter means he’s up front with Atsumu.

 

            “Counter,” he eventually mutters. Kyoutani nods and disappears back out the door. Kenma gives one last look to the orchids before dusting dirt off his pants and dragging himself out to the front.

 

            “Oh, no need to look so excited to see me,” Atsumu jokes when Kenma comes through the door. He’s leaning on the counter, messing with the little cacti they keep next to the register.

 

            “I hope Uni stabs you,” Kenma says, referring to the smaller of the two cacti. He perches on the stool before Atsumu can steal it from him. There’s no one else in the shop, and hopefully it’s going to stay that way for the rest of the afternoon. At the very least, until Kyoutani gets back to take Kenma’s place at the counter. Customers can get fussy, and it’s irritating and stressful and Kenma hates it.

 

            “You’re so rude, Kenma,” Atsumu sniffs, holding a hand over his heart. “After everything I’ve done for you— the _amazing_ friend I’ve been—“

 

            Kenma narrows his eyes. He doesn’t even have to voice the reminder that the day before, Atsumu had completely and utterly _abandoned_ him to the small rush of customers in search of valentine’s arrangements. Atsumu grins because he _knows_ , and goes back to trying to straighten Uni in the pot without pricking himself.

 

            It’s a couple minutes before the door opens, the bell above it chiming. And Kenma must have done something _terrible_ in his past life to deserve Kuroo coming in right then when Atsumu is standing with him at the counter. Something completely treacherous to have earned Kuroo’s cheerful smile and, “Kozume-kun! Hello!”

 

            Atsumu turns on him with a wicked grin. This isn’t even the slightest bit fair.

 

            “Kuroo-san. Can I help you?”

 

            Kuroo takes long strides toward the counter, and Atsumu looks positively _giddy_. He’s stepped out of the way to make room for their guest, and is just out of Kenma’s reach. It’s like he knows how badly Kenma wants to hit him.

 

            “Actually, I was hoping you could,” Kuroo says. He leans his arms on the top of the counter, just barely missing landing his elbow on top of one of the cacti. “Cat’s Cradle — the, uh, the coffee shop, where I work— um. It’s looking kinda bare, you know? Was thinking of maybe putting some flowers around, but I’m not sure what would look best.” There’s hair falling into his face and sticking up everywhere else, and Kenma doesn’t let himself think that it’s kind of really—

 

            “Sure.”

 

            It’s not attractive. At all.

 

            Atsumu slips behind the counter to get to one of the cabinets, and bumps into Kenma as he goes. As if Kenma really needed the reminder that he’s listening to every word, waiting for the opportunity to ask Kenma in that _stupid_ tone about who Kuroo is, and how does Kenma know him, and he’s cute, isn’t he?

 

            Kenma tries not to scowl. Instead, he pulls out the binder that contains photos of some of their more general, common arrangements and bouquets, and slides it across the counter to Kuroo. “I don’t know what your shop looks like. But these are some examples of what we can do. Or you can put together a custom arrangement. Whatever you’d rather.” He keeps his eyes off Kuroo. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

 

            Kuroo nods and flips the binder open, scanning over the pictures. He looks so focused. His fingers tap on the countertop while the other hand slowly turns the pages.

 

            “I think . . . something like this,” Kuroo says after a moment, pointing to one of the pictures. It’s a simple arrangement, something common and generally popular for things like _get well soon_ baskets, or a _thank you_ gift. There’s an office building a couple blocks away that likes to order it for their reception desk every so often.

 

            “Sure. Do you know how many you’ll need?” Kenma glances up, just for a second, to see Kuroo looking at him with an easy smile, and he immediately returns his gaze to the binder.

 

            “Mm. Probably . . . three? Three. Three’s good,” Kuroo says.

 

            “That’s fine. It’ll take a little bit to put them together. You can stay and wait if you want, or pick them up any time before we close. Or . . . someone could drop by to deliver them tomorrow.” Kenma’s torn between wanting him to leave so he doesn’t have to keep seeing his smile, his hair, the sweater that fits him stupidly well — and wanting him to stay, so he doesn’t have to deal with Atsumu.

 

            “I’ll stay and hang around. My shift’s over, anyway, and Pit’s at home so it’s not like I’ve got him to keep me company at the shop.”

 

            “Sure.” Kenma goes to get flowers from the back, and to no surprise, Atsumu follows. The second the door closes behind them both, Kenma’s already telling him, “Don’t.”

 

            Of course, Atsumu does.

 

            “So how do you know _Kuroo-san?”_ he asks, swinging an arm around Kenma’s shoulders.

 

            Kenma grimaces and shoves him off. “None of your business. You’re supposed to be watching the counter, you can’t leave a customer alone in the shop.”

 

            “I trust that he won’t steal anything,” Atsumu replies. “You know, now that I think about it—“

 

            _“Don’t.”_

 

            “—he mentioned a _Pit_ , didn’t he? That sounds familiar, yeah?”

 

            He’s going to try to be a better person. Do good deeds. Whatever it takes to not have to go through this ever again.

 

            “Don’t tell me!” Atsumu says, snapping his fingers and turning to grin at Kenma. “He’s the cat guy!”

 

            He’ll stop teasing Semi so much about Osamu. Stop stealing sips of Koganegawa’s coffee and blaming it on Yamamoto. He’ll start cleaning the windows of the shop on Fridays like he’s supposed to. He’s really going to try, he means it.

 

            “So you’ve been _talking_ to him?”

 

            “No. We ran into him the other day. Shut up.”

 

            “You know, he’s kind of cute. Don’t you think so, Kenma? The messy hair’s charming.”

 

            Kenma stops picking out lilies and turns to glare at Atsumu. “I’m going to tell Kawanishi that you’ve secretly been complimenting him in German every time he comes in, and that _schön_ isn’t an insult like you’ve let him think it is.”

 

            _“Don’t you dare.”_

 

            _“Try me.”_

 

            Atsumu scowls at Kenma for another moment before turning back with a huff. “You’re a terrible person.”

 

            “You’re worse.”

 

            He’s going to be a better person. Just, maybe not to Atsumu.

 

            There’s a few minutes of peace while Atsumu’s back up front and Kenma’s alone with the flowers, but he knows he has to go back out to Kuroo to make the arrangements. If he’s lucky, Kuroo won’t try to make small talk. But luck has never really been on Kenma’s side.

 

            He’s barely been at the end of the counter for a minute, laying out the flowers, when Kuroo takes up a spot on the other side, leaning on the countertop and resting his chin in his hand. Atsumu’s back with the cacti, close enough to listen in on everything. Of course.

 

            “So,” Kuroo starts, and Kenma knows this is going to be a long afternoon. “Have you worked here a while?”

 

            “Couple years,” Kenma shrugs. “Tora insisted I apply with him.”

 

            “Tora?”

 

            “Yamamoto. He was with me the other day.” Kenma refocuses on the flowers. On the bright side, if any other customers come in, Atsumu will be the one stuck helping them. Not that it’s very likely anyone else is going to show up.

 

            “Mohawk?” Kenma nods. “Got it. You know a lot about flowers, then?”

 

            “I guess.”

 

            “So do you know what these flowers all mean?”

 

            Kenma looks up for just a moment, to see Kuroo’s smile has turned into something of a more curious expression, and Atsumu looks _ecstatic_. Asshole.

 

            “Sure,” Kenma says, looking back down at them. “The pink ones — amaryllis — mean _shy_. And white lilies stand for innocence.”

 

            “What about the purple ones?” Kuroo’s settled down, made himself comfortable against the counter. Kenma thinks about checking to see if Semi ever fixed the extra stool in the back, so he doesn’t have to stand. He could probably ask Atsumu to look.

 

            “Iris. For good news,” Kenma says. He glances at Atsumu, who’s still hovering, messing with Uni again. Atsumu looks back at him, and Kenma taps the side of his stool before pointing to the door to the back. Atsumu nods and disappears to the back room, actually deciding to be helpful for once. Kenma turns his gaze to Kuroo. “What about the coffee shop? How long have you been there?”

 

            Maybe if he directs the questions to Kuroo, he won’t have to do so much talking. Maybe Kuroo will start off on some tangent, and let Kenma focus on the arrangements.

 

            “Well. My family’s owned it forever, but I guess . . . I’ve only really started helping out around the place for the last, I don’t know, four years maybe? It’s not bad. I’ve gotten less shitty at the latte art. Still pretty shit at remembering to sweep the floors before closing. Or, you know, wanting to.”

 

            The corner of Kenma’s mouth twitches into half a smile.

 

            Atsumu brings the stool out for Kuroo, and Kenma starts working to actually put the flowers together. Kenma gets a little lucky — Kuroo does ask him other questions, about the shop and the flowers, a couple about Kenma. But Kenma manages to get him to do more of the talking while he works. He talks about Cat’s Cradle, about Pit. He tells Kenma that he’s a university student, majoring in biochemistry, and just the thought of it gives Kenma a headache.

 

            He has a smile through nearly all of it. It’s definitely not cute.

 

            Kyoutani comes back as Kenma’s finishing the last arrangement, pulling off the bright pink apron as he comes through the door. Nothing about him is quiet as he passes through the shop, and it’s distracting enough that Kuroo loses the rest of his sentence about his coursework. He looks at Kyoutani while he disappears into the back, then glances at Atsumu, until his gaze finally lands on Kenma.

 

            “What’s with the hair?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together.

 

            “Kentarou’s?” Kenma says.

 

            “And his,” Kuroo replies, gesturing towards Atsumu. “And Yamamoto’s. And yours. You’ve all got— I mean it’s all black and bleached. You— _Why?_ “

 

            Kenma can feel himself smiling at Kuroo’s exasperation. “Coincidence.”

 

            Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “I don’t buy it.”

 

            “I don’t know what you want me to say. It just happened to be like that. Not part of the dress code or anything.”

 

            “So what you’re saying is,” Kuroo says, leaning forward, “it totally _is_ part of the dress code.”

 

            “That’s the exact opposite of what I said.”

 

            “Because you’re trying to hide it! It’s a conspiracy, I’m uncovering it. Don’t try to lie to me.”

 

            Kenma can’t help but snort a laugh, and Kuroo freezes halfway into starting his next sentence, mouth hanging halfway open and eyes stuck on Kenma and— It’s stupid, and he looks— he’s just—

 

            Who does he think he is, honestly?

 

            Kuroo’s still not saying anything, so Kenma looks back down at the flowers and asks, “What? Cat got your tongue?”

 

            “Okay, you joke, but that bastard is _plotting_ ,” Kuroo says, slamming the palms of his hands onto the counter. “When you run into me one day and I can no longer speak, you’ll know. Pit’s an asshole. Hell’s cat. You’ll see, when you meet him.”

 

            “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Kuroo scowls at him, and Kenma’s smiling before he can catch himself. “Your flowers are good to go. Atsumu can help you with paying.”

 

            Atsumu turns from the tulips he’s been watering. “You _fuck_ , you know I don’t know how to work the register.”

 

            “You’ve worked here for nearly a year,” Kenma deadpans. “That’s not my fault.”

 

            “You know, you put the arrangements together, you’re supposed to make the transaction,” Atsumu argues.

 

            “I was due to go on break five minutes after Kuroo-san came in. If I don’t take it now, Kentarou will go for his before I get the chance, and then I’ll get no break. Ring him up.” He turns to Kuroo and offers half a smile. “Hope to see you back again soon.”

 

            He pushes through the door to the back room before Atsumu can remember that Kenma doesn’t really know how to work the register, either.

 

* * *

 

 

            Payback. It’s probably payback. It’s probably payback for the fact that Kenma spent half of Monday teasing Kyoutani for how badly he was blushing after Yahaba came in. Probably for him also sharing the information with Semi, and probably for them both giving him shit for fucking up the gardenias because he was so distracted until Yahaba actually _left_ , and, well. Kenma probably, definitely deserves this.

 

            That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

 

            “I don’t even like coffee,” Kenma grumbles as Kyoutani keeps walking down the street, two steps ahead of him.

 

            “Someone has to help carry it back,” Kyoutani replies. Which is a blatant lie, because it’s only three cups and he could easily ask for a cardboard drink tray. But Kenma knows better than to argue with him.

 

            He tries to point out that they always get coffee from the place next to their favorite bakery, and there’s no reason to change now, but he knows that’s not even a solid argument. Atsumu’s the only one who goes there, and that’s purely because he has a thing for the barista there. The actual drinks? Not the best.

 

            Kenma doesn’t say another word the rest of the walk to Cat’s Cradle. He lets Kyoutani push him into the coffee shop, and prays to whatever gods might be listening that Kuroo isn’t working up front.

 

            Either no gods are listening, or they just despise Kenma, because Kuroo’s standing right behind the middle of the counter, fiddling with his apron. He looks up when the bell above the door chimes, and breaks out into a broad grin.

 

            “Oh! Kozume-kun! Welcome to Cat’s Cradle.”

 

            One of the flower arrangements Kenma put together is right on top of the register. He’s going to start being a _much_ better person.

 

            “You can— I— Kenma is fine. Just Kenma.” He looks down at the variety of sugar packets to avoid having to look at Kuroo.

 

            “ _Kenma_. How are you?”

 

            Kenma shrugs, glances back up. He’s about to say something, but a small, calico cat jumps onto the case of bakery treats just to the left, and he loses all his words. Kuroo reaches out for it, scratching under its chin. His smile slips into something softer.

 

            The cat is cute. The _cat_.

 

            There’s the fleeting thought that maybe it’s not _just_ the cat.

 

            “Pit?” Kenma guesses, even though he already knows the answer. He’s seen the fliers, the picture from Kuroo. This is undeniably his cat. “The one that’s plotting against you?”

 

            Kuroo fixes Kenma with a look. “He _is_ ,” he insists.

 

            Kenma looks from Kuroo to Pit, who’s moved from the case of sweets to the counter between them, stepping closer to Kenma. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then the cat is nudging his head into Kenma’s stomach, only just managing to reach.

 

            “This is him?” He slowly brings his hand up, and Pit bumps his head into it. Kenma drags his hand down his back, and fights a smile at his purr. “He really seems vicious.”

 

            “You’re making fun of me,” Kuroo says.

 

            “No, no. This is definitely Hell’s cat.”

 

            Kuroo narrows his eyes at Kenma. “This is part of his game. He’s making me out to be a liar, but I _swear_ , he’s the devil incarnate.”

 

            “Sure,” Kenma says. “I believe you.”

 

            “Would you like to place an order?” Kuroo asks. “Or are you just going to stand here and mock me all day?”

 

            “Mock you, probably. I don’t drink coffee.” He looks back up from the cat, and Kuroo’s looking right back. He’s doing a terrible job at hiding his amused expression.

 

            “We have tea and hot chocolate,” he offers. “As well as our baked goods. Take your pick.”

 

            “Mm. I’ll take whatever you recommend. Kentarou’s got some stupid, gross order for him and Eita.” Kenma steps aside to let Kyoutani list off his and Semi’s drinks, which are hardly even coffee with how many different additions they put in. Too much sugar. He crouches down to be at eye level with Pit, bringing his other hand up to gently pet him.

 

            He’s a sweet cat. He has absolutely no idea where the _devil incarnate_ personality is. Especially when Pit bumps his nose into Kenma’s, and Kenma fails completely to keep his smile from widening.

 

            “Oh, _sure_ ,” Kuroo mutters. “Be all nice to strangers, make me out to be some kind of lying asshole, never to be trusted again.”

 

            “Has anyone ever told you you’re overdramatic?” Kenma asks, glancing up at Kuroo.

 

            He blinks down at Kenma. “Yes, regularly, why?”

 

            “No reason.”

 

            When Kuroo turns to make the drinks, Kenma redirects his attention to the cat, who carefully steps off the counter and right onto Kenma’s shoulder.

 

            “Was this the missing cat?” Kyoutani asks, reaching down to scratch behind Pit’s ears. Kenma nods, and Kyoutani crouches down next to him. “Could bring Mazinger to the flower shop.”

 

            “Could not,” Kenma says. “He always tries to eat the flowers. Not good for business or the dog.”

 

            “Says you,” Kyoutani grumbles. Still, he can’t keep up the grumpy look when he’s squatting next to Kenma petting the tiny calico, who — contrary to whatever Kuroo might say — is an actual angel.

 

            Cat’s Cradle is nearly empty, with just a single pair of high school students tucked in the corner with what’s probably their breakfast, and a businessman typing on his phone and sipping his coffee at one of the center tables. It’s quiet and nice and smells like chocolate, and Kenma really, honestly wouldn’t mind coming back.

 

            It’s a few minutes before Kuroo’s calling out Kenma’s name, and Kenma jumps just enough at it that Pit leaps off his shoulder and back onto the counter. His lips twist into a frown and he looks up at a laughing Kuroo.

 

            “Sorry. Uh, your drinks are ready.”

 

            Kyoutani gets up first and takes the cups Kuroo holds out to him, and then Kenma goes to take the last. Kuroo offers a grin, and it’s so _cheerful_ and—

 

            It’s not fair.

 

            “Cinnamon hot chocolate,” Kuroo says, passing it over. “I promise it’s good.”

 

            Kenma nods, and Kuroo’s still grinning, and maybe he should stop teasing Kyoutani so much about Yahaba.

 

            They start to walk out, and Kuroo tells them to come back again, and Kenma steps back out into the cold thinking that maybe he will. Just for the cat.

 

            He doesn’t see Kuroo again until Thursday, later in the afternoon when the shop is empty and Semi’s taken to sitting on the counter, peering down at Kenma’s DS screen. Kyoutani’s on the floor, leaning against the stool between Kenma’s legs, trying to work with an orange lily that’s half-wilted. Probably Atsumu’s fault. Possibly Koganegawa’s.

 

            He’s spent half the week trying to convince himself to go back to Cat’s Cradle, because Pit is sweet and the hot chocolate was amazing, but he still hasn’t managed. Yamamoto won’t stop giving him shit for it.

 

            “Try going left,” Semi says, legs swinging and bumping into the stool, right next to Kyoutani’s head. “Other left.”

 

            “That would be going to the right,” Kenma replies.

 

            “Okay, well maybe account for the fact that I’m looking at it upside down.”

 

            “You could account for that yourself.” Kenma goes to his left just to spite Semi, even if the other way is where he knows he’s supposed to go.

 

            “You fucker.”

 

            The door opening cuts off anything else Kenma might say, and Kuroo comes right up to the counter. Semi shuffles to the side, but doesn’t get down. They’re completely unprofessional. Not that the owner’s set a good example for them. Ukai’s probably worse when it comes down to it.

 

            “Kuroo,” Kenma says. He moves a little too quick to sit straighter and nearly swings his foot right into Kyoutani’s head. Kyoutani doesn’t move, just shoves at Kenma’s leg and glares up at him. “How can I help you?”

 

            Kuroo leans into the space Semi just vacated, his palms resting on the countertop and smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Kenma passes his game over to Semi. “I am in need of flowers.”

 

            “For?”

 

            “ _For_ Cat’s Cradle,” Kuroo says. “Three small arrangements. And since you trusted me with your drink, I trust your recommendation for the flowers.”

 

            Semi isn’t the slightest bit subtle about eyeing Kenma.

 

            Maybe Kenma can go on deliveries the second Kuroo leaves, and avoid him and Kyoutani.

 

            “Sure,” Kenma says. “Just a moment, then.” He goes into the back, looking through the different flowers, thinking about different arrangements he could put together. It’s nice to know what Cat’s Cradle actually looks like, he supposes, so he can pick something that’ll fit. But he also hates having to come up with his own arrangements. Semi’s the only one between them all who’s actually good at that.

 

            He goes with something simple, flowers he knows will look good together, and carefully collects the flowers to bring out and work with.

 

            Kuroo’s waiting at the end of the counter when he gets back, talking to Semi about Kenma’s game. He looks over when the door opens, and beams at Kenma as he comes over.

 

            “What do these ones mean?” he asks once Kenma’s sat down. He reaches for a soft pink petal, gently running a finger over it.

 

            “Peonies, for bravery,” Kenma tells him. “And magnolias mean _natural_.” He only barely knows the flowers’ meanings, a result of a long day with nothing better for Semi and Kenma to do than memorize what different flowers stood for. People rarely care enough to ask about them.

 

            Kuroo nods, and is quiet for a couple minutes before he starts really talking. He asks Kenma about the game he was playing, with more and more questions when Kenma’s answers are too short. Kuroo tells him about the one game he’s ever properly finished, with wide gestures and long tangents, and Kenma really likes listening to him. He asks Kenma if he’s in school, and Kenma tells him about his computer sciences major, his classes. He ends up telling Kuroo about the shop, and Kuroo responds with stories about Cat’s Cradle.

 

            Kyoutani eventually leaves to make deliveries, which — for whatever reason — he actually _likes_ doing. It’s most likely something to do with the fact that he always ends up having to go past the library, and it’s an excuse to drop in and see Yahaba. Semi stays on the other end of the counter, playing Kenma’s game, blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation.

 

            “And I’m pretty sure Oikawa knows he’s being pathetic at this point,” Kuroo is saying as Kenma finishes the last arrangement, “but he won’t do anything about it. Which is fine, watching him pine for Suga is the best entertainment I’ve ever had. I think Suga might break and take pity on him, though, ask him out first, which is _such_ a shame.” He looks down at the flowers when he realizes Kenma’s stopped messing with them, and grins. “They look _beautiful_. Thank you, they’re— they’re amazing, Kenma.”

 

            “Sure,” Kenma says. He nudges Semi for help with the register, and it’s not long after that Kuroo leaves with a cheerful, “See you soon!”

 

            Which leaves him alone with Semi. And the dangerous look of Semi’s smirk.

 

            “You know,” Semi says, draping himself over Kenma’s shoulders, “you took a lot longer than usual to put those arrangements together. I mean, you moved _particularly_ slow.”

 

            “Eita.”

 

            “Wonder what could be making you want to take your time. You wouldn’t happen to have any guesses, would you?”

 

            “Eita, don’t.”

 

            “It couldn’t possibly be the _customer_. No, there’s no way you have a _crush_. Kozume Kenma would _never_.”

 

            Kenma scowls and pulls his DS from Semi’s hands. “I don’t need to take this from _you_.”

 

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

            “You once stayed an hour and a half past the end of your shift because you knew Osamu would be coming in, and nearly missed your photography class.”

 

            “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Semi argues. “Have you _met_ him?”

 

            “Several times, yes. I’m taking my break,” Kenma says, to avoid any possibility of the conversation redirecting back to Kuroo. Semi’s got no idea what he’s talking about anyway. Kenma doesn’t get crushes.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s back at Cat’s Cradle on Saturday. It’s later in the evening, after Kenma’s shift is over, but the coffee shop still isn’t entirely empty. The new flowers are on the counter, right next to the sleeping cat. Kuroo is in the middle of wiping down the top of the bakery display case, humming along to the music that’s playing from overhead.

 

            Kenma goes straight to Pit, not minding in the least that Kuroo has yet to notice him. Pit leans his head into Kenma’s hand, and his purring must be what finally grabs Kuroo’s attention. He looks surprised to see Kenma, but a wide grin breaks out on his face in an instant.

 

            “You’re back!” Kenma nods. “What can I get for you today?”

 

            “Whatever you recommend,” Kenma tells him. “Something warm.”

 

            “Sure, sure. I like your sweater, by the way.”

 

            Kuroo turns away to make Kenma’s drink before he can argue that there’s nothing particularly special about his sweater. It’s just red, and warm. Not worth noting. But there’s something about the fact that Kuroo commented on it anyway that makes Kenma’s face feel warm, and he tugs on the ends of his sleeves. Stupid.

 

            He’s grateful, at least, that Koganegawa was the only other one at the shop when they closed. He’s not the type to care that Kenma went the opposite direction he normally does to go home, not like Atsumu or Semi who would’ve caught onto the fact that he was walking towards Cat’s Cradle. It’s pretty much the only reason Kenma came today, anyway. There’s no risk of mortification when he comes in on Monday.

 

            Kuroo calls out for Kenma, steaming cup in hand, and folds his arms over the top of the bakery case once Kenma’s taken it. Kenma stays stood in front of him, waiting for whatever he has to say.

 

            “Finished at work?” he asks. “Or going in?”

 

            Kenma shakes his head. “Finished. Just closed. Not back until Monday. How late do you have to be here?”

 

            Kuroo glances at the clock hanging on the wall behind him before turning back to Kenma. “Couple more hours. Then I’ve gotta bring this asshole home, which is always a pain. Because he’s, you know, an asshole.” He reaches out towards Pit, but the cat dodges his hand and runs off into the kitchen. “See what I mean?”

 

            “Think he just hates you specifically,” Kenma says. “Maybe because you keep calling him names.”

 

            “I only call him names because he’s rude,” Kuroo huffs. “You just got lucky enough that he likes you.”

 

            “Sure.” He looks up at the clock, thinks about the fact that he has a paper due Monday afternoon. He’s only got tomorrow to finish writing it. “I have to go. Homework to finish.”

 

            “See you again soon, then!” Kuroo sends him off with a cheerful wave, and Kenma braces himself for the cold.

 

            He goes back Monday morning, before heading to work. He deserves something nice, he thinks, after having to put up with his printer breaking and Atsumu’s two hour phone call freaking out about his psychology exam. He deserves to see the cat and to have a warm drink, and both of those things happen to be at Cat’s Cradle.

 

            Kuroo’s there, looking just about as tired as Kenma feels. Pit’s curled up next to the register, sound asleep. Kenma goes right to him, gently petting down his back.

 

            “Working?” Kuroo asks as he steps over to the register. Kenma nods. “How’d the homework go— You know what, your face tells me everything I need to know about that, nevermind. I’ll just go on and make you a drink, yeah?”

 

            “Yeah.”

 

            Kenma crouches to be level with the cat, since there’s no one in line behind him. He looks at Kenma, but doesn’t move at all. Just lets himself be pet while he goes back to sleep.

 

            “I think I spent . . . four hours? Working on the pre-lab work for a chemistry class,” Kuroo says when he passes Kenma’s finished drink over. “I’ve still got reading to do, between making drinks.”

 

            “Hard?” Kenma asks.

 

            Kuroo shakes his head. “Not particularly. Just a lot of work. Plus, I’m pretty sure Oikawa wants my help to practice for a presentation he has later this week. Think his course is a lot more intense than mine.” Kuroo reaches over to straighten one of the flowers on top of the register, his touch light and careful. The way flowers are meant to be treated. “You’re in computer science, right? ’s that difficult?”

 

            Kenma shrugs. Strokes a hand across Pit’s back. “Sometimes. Mostly just a lot of work. Easy to make stupid mistakes.”

 

            “Mm. Not you though, right? Too smart to get caught doing something stupid.” Kuroo flashes a grin, and Kenma feels a smile tugging at his lips.

 

            “Sure. If that’s what you want to think.”

 

            “Nah, I’m convinced you’re brilliant. For sure. Almost as smart as me, I’d bet.”

 

            Kenma snorts a laugh and looks up from the cat. “You sound like Atsumu.”

 

            “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Kuroo leans forward, resting his arms on the countertop. Settling in like he already knows Kenma’s not quite ready to leave.

 

            “Not sure yet,” Kenma tells him. He doesn’t say that with Kuroo, it’s probably a great thing. Barely even lets himself think it before he’s forcing his thoughts elsewhere.

 

            He tells himself he stays a while longer because Pit seems happy with the attention he’s getting, and who would Kenma be to abandon him so soon? It’s got nothing to do with Kuroo’s easy smile, or how he’s genuinely kind of comfortable to talk to.

 

            He’s ten minutes late to work.

 

            “Oh, how nice of you to show up,” Semi says when Kenma comes through the door. “I was just starting to miss you.”

 

            “I brought you coffee,” Kenma tells him in lieu of giving an excuse. Mostly because he hasn’t actually _come up_ with an excuse. He passes the overly sweetened coffee Semi likes over and goes into the back room. Until people start coming in, he’s decided to spend the morning tending to his gardenias.

 

            Of course, Semi only needs one look at the branded coffee cup before he’s joining Kenma in the back, leaving the counter completely unattended. He drapes an arm over Kenma’s shoulder and leans into him, a wicked little smile on his face.

 

            “ _So_ , Cat’s Cradle, huh? You know, last I checked, you don’t even like coffee.”

 

            “They have more than just coffee,” Kenma mutters.

 

            “Oh, right, my mistake,” Semi nods. “You’re right, they also have that cat . . . the cat’s _owner_ . . .”

 

            Kenma scowls and Semi squeezes his shoulders tighter. “I don’t deserve this.”

 

            “I can’t blame you,” Semi says. “He’s cute. The cat, of course. Just the cat.” The door swings open, and Terushima is standing in the doorway, staring at them both. “Oh, good morning. I was just telling Kenma how I think it’s _sweet_ that he’s started going to Cat’s Cradle. You know, for the cat they’ve got over there.”

 

            Terushima glances between them both. As if Semi wasn’t enough, now _he_ has to be here, too.

 

            “The cat?”

 

            “Yeah, yeah, you know. The one with the owner that Kenma definitely isn’t into.”

 

            “I’m _not_ ,” Kenma insists. Kuroo’s nice, has a cute cat, makes good, warm drinks. And that’s the whole of it. Nothing less, nothing more.

 

            “Right,” Semi says. “Just like Kyoutani’s not totally in love with Yahaba. You are by no means crushing on cat guy.”

 

            “One day I’m just going to tell Osamu that you spend half the day sighing about how in love with him you are,” Kenma tells him. “That you talk about him so much Yuu thought you were actually dating.”

 

            “ _Kozume. Kenma._ Don’t you _dare_ ,” Semi says, detaching himself from Kenma.

 

            “You started it.”

 

            “No one’s watching the counter,” Terushima cuts in. He already knows where this is going to end up if it continues, and contrary to popular belief, he’s not _always_ looking for chaos.

 

            Semi goes back out. Kenma gets a quiet morning with his gardenias, and the rest of the drink from Kuroo.

 

* * *

 

 

            Kuroo comes in Thursday afternoon, holding a tray of drinks. Nishinoya’s the only other person around, with Atsumu thankfully out on deliveries, and he happily takes one of the cups to the back room where he’s organizing the flowers he’s delivered. He leaves the door propped open. Kuroo happily takes his spot on the empty stool opposite Kenma, sipping at one of the three remaining drinks.

 

            “This one’s yours,” he says, pointing to the cup nearest Kenma. “Caramel cocoa, also known as the _best_ kind.” He pauses, glances around the shop before settling his gaze back on Kenma. “Quiet morning?”

 

            “‘Tsumu’s gone, so.” Kenma shrugs. “He’s the loud one. And Kanji. Yuuji. Mostly Atsumu, though. Did you ever finish your reading?”

 

            Kuroo groans and lets his face fall into his hands. “I spent all day trying to read the chapter, and then we got to class and turns out, he assigned the wrong chapter. So now I’ve got to read an entire new chapter before tomorrow.”

 

            “So you decided to come here.”

 

            Kuroo peeks through his fingers at Kenma. “Of course. Cat’s Cradle needs flowers, and I don’t trust anyone else to pick them up. It’s fine, I just won’t sleep. It’s all good.”

 

            Kenma narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything. It’s not his place to tell Kuroo that that isn’t healthy. Instead, he pulls the warm cup of hot chocolate into his hands, and asks, “What kind of flowers?”

 

            He can already guess what Kuroo’s going to say. He drops his hands from his face and his mouth lifts into a soft smile. “You choose.”

 

            Kenma nods and slips off the stool, going to the back room where Noya’s moving the pots of flowers around on the shelves, trying to make room for them all. There’s not really enough space. The room is long overdue for some kind of expansion, but Ukai hasn’t bothered with it.

 

            “Is he the one Atsumu keeps talking about?” Noya asks while Kenma looks over the different flowers.

 

            He shoots him a glare, thinking about the propped open door. It’s not like Noya’s being loud enough that Kuroo’s going to overhear, but there’s the lingering _what if_ in Kenma’s mind, and he’s not one for taking those kinds of chances.

 

            “What? Is that a yes?” Noya says.

 

            “It’s a _stop listening to everything Atsumu says_ ,” Kenma tells him. He can feel Noya’s gaze still on him and scowls. After a moment, he sighs. “It’s a yes.”

 

            Noya laughs, loud and vibrant and filling the whole small space. “I won’t say anything, I promise. Here, take this lavender. It’ll look nice.”

 

            At least there’s someone Kenma can trust. Someone who’s not going to pretend like Kenma deals in things like _crushes_.

 

            Kenma pulls a few other flowers, grabs everything else he needs, and heads back to the front. Kuroo’s made himself comfortable, set to sit with Kenma for the next little while. His sweater looks nice.

 

* * *

 

 

            “What a fucking bastard,” Kyoutani growls, coming into the back room and dropping down to sit with Kenma on the floor. He takes a moment to settle in, resting his head in Kenma’s lap with a complete disregard for the scissors Kenma’s holding. He’s going to get himself stabbed one day.

 

            “Eita?” Kenma guesses. He’s the only other person working that morning, and it’s not like Atsumu would’ve come in without Kenma knowing about it.

 

            “Shigeru,” Kyoutani huffs.

 

            “ _Shigeru?_ Since when are you on a first-name basis?” Semi’s going to love hearing all about this.

 

            “Fuck off. Yahaba. A fucking bastard. You didn’t tie that bow right.”

 

            “You do it then,” Kenma says. He’s already stuck in his own personal hell, putting together all the identical arrangements for someone’s wedding. If they’re not perfect, he’s not going to be the one to deal with fixing them, too. “What’s wrong with Shigeru?”

 

            “Did you fucking see him? Creampuff bastard came in looking like— like— _fuck_. He has no right.”

 

            Kenma scoffs, looking away from the ribbon he’s cutting to glance down at Kyoutani. “Your problem is that you’re in love with him?”

 

            “My problem is that no one has the right to look that good in such an ugly sweater. Fucking _bastard_.”

 

            “Just confess,” Kenma says. He cuts another length of ribbon, and lets it fall right onto Kyoutani’s face. He pulls it off with a scowl and shoves it into Kenma’s waiting hand. “Solve all your problems.”

 

            “Fuck off. No.”

 

            “Could give him a full bouquet of roses and camellias. Gardenias.”

 

            “Fuck _off_.”

 

            “Forget-me-nots.”

 

            Kyoutani shifts and glowers up at Kenma. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

            Kenma grins.

 

            Semi pops into the doorway before either of them can say anything more, and Kyoutani isn’t quick enough on telling him not to even think about it. Semi’s already started in on, “Did Kyoutani already tell you his _boyfriend_ came in?”

 

            “He is _not_ —“

 

            “My mistake, you’re still too much of a bitch to confess. Sorry, let me rephrase; did Kyou already tell you _Yahaba_ came in?” Semi cackles as he dodges the spool of ribbon Kyoutani throws at him.

 

            “Nothing about a Yahaba,” Kenma says. “Did mention a _Shigeru_.”

 

            Semi’s laugh turns delighted, and Kyoutani shoves at Kenma.

 

            “Did he also tell you that _Shigeru_ was so blatantly flirting with him? And called him _pretty?_ “

 

            “You’re an asshole.”

 

            “Oh, Kentarou, you’re so sweet. No wonder Yahaba’s so obviously in love with you. You’re a real keeper, I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you— _Kenma don’t just let him take the scissors_. Fuck, are you trying to kill me?”

 

            “I’m trying to get him to cut all this ribbon for me,” Kenma says. “Unless you wanted to help with all these arrangements.”

 

            “Fuck no,” Semi says. “I’d rather sit at the counter all morning, watching cars go by and—“ Semi glances over his shoulder, and when he looks back at Kenma, he’s grinning. “And talking to _Kuroo_.”

 

            Kenma jolts upright and cranes his neck trying to look past Semi into the shop. He’s got to be joking. Kuroo comes in on Thursday afternoons, and _just_ Thursday afternoons. He has no business being in on a Saturday morning.

 

            But Semi is nearly skipping when he goes back into the front, and Kenma thinks maybe he’s telling the truth. He looks down at Kyoutani, waiting for him to move from his lap.

 

            “Want to give him some gardenias?” Kyoutani asks, corner of his mouth quirking up.

 

            “I’ll send some to Shigeru. Leave your name on the card,” Kenma says. “ _Move_.”

 

            “Roses? Camellias?”

 

            “ _I get it_.”

 

            “Forget-me-nots.”

 

            “I know where Yahaba works. Don’t push me,” Kenma warns him.

 

            Kyoutani huffs a laugh and sits up to let Kenma go out into the front of the shop, where, sure enough, Kuroo is leaning on the counter with a tray of drinks and an easy smile as he talks to Semi. He doesn’t catch what Semi says, but Kuroo laughs, and his whole face lights up with it. It’s such a hideous laugh but there’s something about it that sounds _right_.

 

            There’s a small part of Kenma that thinks he might understand what Kyoutani was talking about with Yahaba. _Who does he think he is?_

 

            “Kenma! Good morning!” Kuroo says when he spots Kenma coming out. Semi gives him a positively wicked grin, and Kenma doesn’t think he wants to know what he was saying to Kuroo. “You mentioned you were working this morning, I thought I’d drop by with some drinks on my way to Bo’s. Busy day?”

 

            Kenma pushes his elbow into Semi’s side when he doesn’t move, and Semi laughs as he takes a few steps away. The fact that Kuroo has to come in when Kyoutani and _Semi_ are here isn’t fair in the _slightest_.

 

            “Have a stupid amount of wedding arrangements to put together,” Kenma tells him after a moment. He takes the drink Kuroo holds out to him and sits up on the stool. “Eita’s decided he isn’t going to be any help.”

 

            “Someone has to watch the counter!” Semi says. “You’ve got Kyoutani, don’t you?”

 

            “He’s a selfish asshole,” Kenma says, ignoring him completely. “Doesn’t do anything all day but make fun of me and Kentarou.”

 

            Kuroo’s smile widens. _Bastard._

 

            “I’m sure,” Kuroo replies. “I’d be happy to help if I didn’t have to go help Bo with painting. Not that it’s going to turn out really well. Only one who can do a decent job of it is Oohira, and he’s busy all day. Something about a literature project. So when Bokuto’s got more paint on his ceiling and floor than the walls, you can’t blame me.”

 

            “Sure,” Kenma says. He vaguely remembers who Bokuto is, from last Thursday, when Kuroo brought him up. He knows bits and pieces of Kuroo’s life, but not enough that he doesn’t still get a little lost sometimes. Kuroo has a habit of saying too much too fast for Kenma to hold onto it all when he’s also distracted by flowers, and by Pit, and by Kuroo’s soft smile.

 

            No. Not that last one.

 

            “I’d really like to stay longer,” Kuroo says, “but I’m already late. Took time to make these, you know? I’ll see you next week though, right?” Kenma nods, and Kuroo grins. “Have a great day, then! Good luck with the flowers!”

 

            Kenma dutifully ignores the look Semi’s giving him after Kuroo leaves. He goes into the back room and joins Kyoutani on the floor, and definitely doesn’t think about the fact that he kind of really understands what he means when he rants about Yahaba.

 

            He does see Kuroo again, Monday after his shift at the flower shop, but he’s not alone. There’s someone behind the counter with him, draped over his back with his chin resting on Kuroo’s shoulder, a grin that looks too much like Atsumu’s spread across his face. Pit is nowhere to be found.

 

            “Kenma! Hey!” Kuroo _beams_ the second he sees Kenma standing on the other side of the counter.

 

            His friend looks entirely interested in Kenma’s appearance, looking between him and Kuroo. “Kenma?” he asks. “As in, flower shop boy?”

 

            _Flower shop boy?_

 

            Has he . . . talked about Kenma?

 

            Kenma thinks Kuroo’s cheeks might burn red. But it’s a trick of the light, or the warmth of the coffee shop, because there’s no reason for him to be—

 

            “Yes, flower shop boy, shut up. Kenma, how’re you?” Kuroo asks. His friend shifts on his back, and Kuroo flinches at whatever the weight distribution changes to. Still, he doesn’t shove him off.

 

            “Fine,” Kenma says. He moves his gaze off Kuroo to his friend, trying to decide the least awkward way to ask who he is. Based on everything Kuroo’s told him, he can probably guess, but he’s not really sure.

 

            “This is Oikawa,” Kuroo tells him, saving him from having to ask. “He’s _supposed_ to be helping out.”

 

            “I’m helping!” Oikawa cries. “I cleaned that whole counter, stacked the cups. I’m doing _great_ work, Tetsu.”

 

            “Truly splendid,” Kuroo snorts. He looks back to Kenma, smile soft and easy and Kenma probably understands Kyoutani more than he’d like to. “How’d the wedding arrangements go?”

 

            Kenma wrinkles his nose at the reminder of them. “Took hours. Kentarou helped, but Yuuji stopped in to pick up . . . whatever he left last time he was working, and he’s always a distraction.”

 

            “I’m sure they turned out beautiful, though,” Kuroo says. “Everything you make does, so, you know. _Obviously_. Tea or hot chocolate today?”

 

            “Surprise me,” Kenma tells him.

 

            Kuroo nods, and only then does he actually wrestle Oikawa off his back. He goes to make Kenma’s drink, and Oikawa leans toward Kenma, folding his arms on top of the register. He knows he’s one of Kuroo’s closest friends. Kuroo brings him up in a lot of stories he tells about school, some about Cat’s Cradle. He holds him in a certain light that leaves Kenma feeling like he really wants to like Oikawa.

 

            “Kenma, right?” Oikawa says. Kenma nods. “Your flowers _are_ always really nice. Tetsu was always getting grocery store flowers, and those looked like, well. Like grocery store flowers. But then I came in one week and they looked _pretty_ and I couldn’t _believe_ Tetsu went to an actual flower shop! And then he kept going back _regularly_ instead of just letting the flowers die and forgetting to replace them for a few weeks. I get why, now, though.” Kenma doesn’t quite understand what Oikawa’s secretive half-smile is supposed to mean. He tries not to think much of it. Probably, it’s just an Oikawa thing, and Kenma doesn’t know him well enough to realize it.

 

            Kuroo comes by then, bumping his shoulder against Oikawa’s. “Please tell me he’s not slandering my good name. I can’t live with the shame.” He hands a steaming cup to Kenma, and Kenma definitely does not take notice of Kuroo’s fingers brushing his.

 

            “You got flowers from the _grocery store?_ “ Kenma says.

 

            “No! I mean, _yes_ , but I didn’t know any better!”

 

            “I _told_ you to go to a real flower store!” Oikawa cuts in. “You knew better and decided to ignore my perfectly good advice.”

 

            “Your advice once nearly got Bo banned from the school library,” Kuroo argues. “It’s not all that trustworthy.”

 

            “That was just a simple misunderstanding! _Kenma_ , do you see how he’s trying to ruin my image? That wasn’t my fault.”

 

            Kenma only hums and brings his cup to his mouth, taking a careful sip. He’s definitely not going to burn himself on it, not going to embarrass himself like that, here, now.

 

            “I don’t think he’s buying it,” Kuroo says. “Think he knows it was absolutely your fault. Can’t shift the blame, Kawa. Doesn’t work like that.”

 

            “ _Whatever_ ,” Oikawa huffs. “Look, you’ve got other customers to serve. You have to do your job, can’t try to force a bad opinion of me onto Kenma now.”

 

            Kenma glances back to find there are other people entering the shop, and shifts out of the way of the register. Oikawa follows him to the other end of the counter, seemingly happy to make conversation while Kuroo’s occupied.

 

            “You always let Tetsu just surprise you with your drink?” Oikawa asks.

 

            Kenma shrugs. “Why not? Wouldn’t know what to order anyway.”

 

            Oikawa nods, and asks Kenma other, smaller questions. About the shop, the flowers, Kuroo. It’s almost nice, almost comfortable. He probably likes Oikawa. At least, he doesn’t _dis_ like him.

 

            Kuroo comes back eventually, bumping Oikawa out of the way. There’s whipped cream smeared across the front of his apron. “Work today?”

 

            He nods. “Just got done,” he tells Kuroo. “Was there all morning. I’ve got class at one.”

 

            “Anything good today?” Kuroo leans against the side of the bakery display case, making himself perfectly comfortable.

 

            “Web Design, then Audio Programming,” Kenma tells him. He likes both of those classes, really. They’re interesting. There’s also the bonus of watching Shirabu _hate_ them.

 

            “Good classes?” Kenma nods. “Lots of work?”

 

            “Too much work.”

 

            Kuroo snorts a laugh. “I’m sure it is. You’ve got a hard major. But, you know, you’re smart, you’ll ace it anyway. Do you have a long walk to get to school, or . . . ?”

 

            Kenma shrugs. “It’s not bad. I’ve got a few minutes before I really have to go, if I want to have time to eat. I told Kenjirou I’d come early to look at his project.” He wrinkles his nose, already regretting making that promise. Shirabu stresses too much over little details that no one else cares about, including the professor. He’s too much of a perfectionist. But Kenma already told him he’d come and look it over, which means he can’t stay as long as he’d like to at Cat’s Cradle.

 

            Not that there’s any _reason_ to stay so long. He only comes in for the cat, and he’s evidently not there today.

 

            “You haven’t eaten?” Oikawa asks. Kenma shakes his head. He brought something to eat towards the end of his shift at the flower shop, but Yamamoto and Terushima had kept him too distracted to actually get to it. “You know, you could just have something _here_.”

 

            “We have muffins. Or, I think Okaasan just finished making some apple tarts,” Kuroo says. “Whatever you want, on the house, for Pit’s favorite customer.”

 

            “ _Pit’s_ ,” Oikawa echoes, voice lilting. “Right, Tetsu.”

 

            Kuroo shoves an elbow into Oikawa’s side, but he keeps his eyes on Kenma, smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Really, if you want something to eat here, it’s totally on the house. And I promise it’s all good.”

 

            “Except the croissants,” Oikawa says. “Tetsu made them, so they’re _revolting_.”

 

            “ _Asshole_.”

 

            Kenma ends up leaning against the counter with an apple tart, letting a smile fall across his lips as Kuroo tells him all about the book he’s been reading, and how Pit nearly shredded it that morning, and how lucky he is that Kuroo loves him.

 

            _Unfair_.

 

            _Completely unfair._

 

* * *

 

 

            “Semi, you need to go watch the counter,” Kyoutani says, coming into the back room while Kenma’s in the middle of trimming rose stems for a group of arrangements he and Semi are putting together.

 

            Semi wrinkles his nose at Kyoutani from where he’s sitting on the counter. “Because you can’t?”

 

            “Break,” Kyoutani tells him. He doesn’t give any room for argument before he disappears into the small break room.

 

            Semi scowls and sets the flowers he’s been working with to the side. “You know, he could _ask_ if I wouldn’t _mind_ watching it,” he mutters. “Could have some _manners_.”

 

            “Go watch the counter, Eita,” Kenma says, not looking up from the roses.

 

            “One day I’m going to quit. I mean that.” The door to the front opens and closes with Semi going out, and then he’s immediately coming back in, yelling at Kyoutani to fuck himself before the door slams shut again.

 

            Kyoutani pokes his head out of the break room with a smirk directed at Kenma. “Osamu’s here.”

 

            Kenma laughs, and then he and Kyoutani are scrambling to watch from the door as Semi tries so desperately not to embarrass himself in front of Osamu. Kyoutani cracks the door open just barely and sits down next to it, and Kenma faces him with his feet in his lap, leaning forward just enough to see Semi standing at the counter, hands fidgeting in front of him. Osamu’s leaning on the other side of the counter.

 

            “I’ll pay you to go out there with all those roses right now,” Kyoutani murmurs.

 

            Kenma looks at Semi, looks at the soft smile he has that’s reserved for all things Osamu. Subtle and sweet. “How much?” It’d be easy to just sit up there and work with all the flowers, just off to the side from the pair, knowing that Semi _fully_ acknowledges his presence. Acknowledges the over-abundance of roses.

 

            Kyoutani shrugs. “Five hundred yen?”

 

            “Six,” Kenma tells him, and Kyoutani nods.

 

            He gathers up the roses in his arms, pausing to adjust them so none fall, and toes the door open just enough to step through. Osamu barely glances his way, midway through laughing at something Semi’s said. Semi casually sticks his leg out to kick the back of Kenma’s leg, but keeps his attention on Osamu.

 

            Kenma lays the roses on top of the counter, half of them spilling off the top of the pile and rolling to the space between Semi and Osamu. Kenma’s about to say something, make some comment to make Semi blush and Kyoutani laugh, but the door to the shop opens before he can get a single word out.

 

            _It’s Thursday_.

 

            As Kuroo comes up to the counter, cheeks red from the cold and steaming cup of _something_ in his hand, Kenma vaguely registers Kyoutani’s laughter coming from the back room.

 

            Kenma’s not a _bad_ person. He’s not a perfect one, but he leans more towards the good side. He’s responsible. Tries to be empathetic, even when it comes to Atsumu, usually. There’s no way he’s done something to deserve this.

 

            “Kenma! How’re you today?” Kuroo sets the cup from Cat’s Cradle towards Kenma and folds his arms on top of the counter. “Warmer than me, I hope. It’s _freezing_ outside. I brought you some green tea.”

 

            _Stupid Kyoutani and his stupid roses—_

 

            “I’m . . . fine,” Kenma says. “Looking for flowers?”

 

            “Think I found flowers,” Kuroo replies, laughter laced through his voice. He twirls one of the roses between his fingers. “Are these all for something?”

 

            “Some fancy party someone’s hosting. We’ve been trying to get the arrangements together all afternoon. It’d go faster if Kentarou would help.” He glances back to where he knows Kyoutani’s watching, and Kyoutani only smiles back at him.

 

            Cocky bastard. See how he likes it the next time Yahaba drops in.

 

            “Mm, sounds like you’ve had a long day, then,” Kuroo says. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you with the shop flowers.”

 

            Kenma starts, not wanting Kuroo to leave so soon. Which is stupid. He’s got no reason to need him to _stay_. Besides, doing his arrangements would just be more work.

 

            “It’s fine,” Kenma tells him. “I could use a break from these anyway.” He nudges the roses, all carefully trimmed and ready to be put with the camellias.

 

            He’s so _sick_ of roses.

 

            Kuroo breaks into a wide grin and settles in. “Okay, then. I’ll let you surprise me. Something . . . without roses. I figure you’ve seen enough.” He looks down at the pile of them, eyebrow quirked with amusement.

 

            Kenma definitely doesn’t smile.

 

            He goes into the back, kicking Kyoutani’s legs out of his way without any sense of remorse.

 

            “I didn’t do _anything_ ,” Kyoutani says.

 

            “You’re an asshole,” Kenma replies. “You think it’s funny.”

 

            “Because it is funny.”

 

            Kenma shoots him a glare. It’s _not_ funny, in the slightest.

 

            He gathers up the flowers he wants, pulls some ribbon from the back counter as well, and ignores Kyoutani’s smug expression as he returns to the counter. He makes sure to slam the door shut. If Kyoutani wants a show, he’ll have to come out for it himself.

 

            “So what do these mean?” Kuroo asks once Kenma’s sitting in the stool at the end of the counter. He picks up a dahlia and brings it closer to his face to smell it, and Kenma does all he can to ignore the tilt of his smile.

 

            “Yellow chrysanthemums mean _imperial_ ,” Kenma tells him, turning his focus down to the flowers. “White for _truth_. And dahlias mean _good taste_.”

 

            Kuroo nods with a low hum, and quietly watches Kenma work. It’s the first time he hasn’t instantly filled the silence with chatter and questions. There’s just him, fingers lightly playing over the petals of the dahlia still in his hand, eyes on Kenma; and Semi and Osamu, their voices low and sweet, and some distant part of Kenma’s mind makes a note to place a bet with Kyoutani on how much longer it’ll take them to get together.

 

            The quiet is nice. But it also leaves Kenma without Kuroo’s words to distract him, and instead he ends up thinking too much about _Kuroo_ , his presence and how gentle he is with the flower he’s holding and how good he looks in a scarf and—

 

            Kenma should really start being a better person.

 

            It’s only as he’s nearly finished with the second arrangement that Kuroo finally starts talking, slow and soft and _it’s not fair_.

 

            “Good taste,” Kuroo murmurs with a slight nod to himself. “Like you have in flowers. You know my mom keeps talking about how pretty they are? Every day. We come in, and it’s the first thing she comments on. Kozume Kenma, the florist with the official best taste.”

 

            Kenma snorts and looks up. There’s immediate regret flashing in his mind, because Kuroo’s beaming at him and it’s just— it’s so—

 

            “Whatever you say,” Kenma says, refocusing on the arrangement.

 

            Kuroo makes a few idle comments here and there, about the flowers and Kenma and how Oikawa doesn’t actually know a thing about making coffee and it’s probably useless to have him helping around at Cat’s Cradle, but he says it with affection and Kenma’s sure that he doesn’t actually mind Oikawa being there at all.

 

            He ties the last set of flowers with a neat bow and turns his gaze onto Kuroo. Osamu’s gone by now, Semi blushing in the back room with Kyoutani around the same time Kuroo started talking about how much Pit hates Oikawa and how stupidly funny it is to see them interact. The shop is quiet and the sun is dipping lower in the sky, and Kenma could almost stay right there for another few hours, if it weren’t for Kyoutani and Semi just behind the door, no doubt eavesdropping.

 

            Kenma manages to figure out the register with minimal fumbling, and gets the arrangements into a small box for Kuroo to carry back to Cat’s Cradle.

 

            Kuroo still has the dahlia in his hand when he goes to take the box, and just before he picks it up, he tucks the flower behind Kenma’s ear with a soft smile, and—

 

            _Oh_.

 

            _Oh_ , no.

 

            For a good couple moments after Kuroo’s gone, leaving with a “Thank you!” and “See you soon!” Kenma’s stuck in place, still processing the feeling of Kuroo’s fingers _just_ brushing Kenma’s skin, the _flower_ , the barely there tint to Kuroo’s cheeks.

 

            _Oh no_.

 

            He reaches up and gingerly lets his fingers brush the flower’s petals. Kuroo’s touch was just as light as his smile and _fuck_. Kenma doesn’t get crushes. He _doesn’t_. And yet . . .

 

            He turns to the door to the back room, where Semi and Kyoutani are crouched on the floor. Kenma’s supposed to be in Semi’s place, watching with Kyoutani as his face goes a bright, flustered pink the longer he talks with Osamu. Not Semi and Kyoutani, watching Kenma as his cheeks warm in Kuroo’s presence. Not Semi and Kyoutani, witnessing _this_.

 

            Kenma barely gets out a _don’t_ before Semi’s leaping to his feet and swinging an arm around Kenma’s shoulders. “That was so _sweet_ of Kuroo. Oh, you really know how to pick ‘em, Kenma. You have—”

 

            “Eita, please—”

 

            “—such _good taste_.”

 

            Kenma heaves a sigh at Semi’s delighted cackle. He must’ve done something truly terrible in a past life. Maybe he was part of some convoluted gang, did bad things to good people. There’s no way this is just _happening_ to him. It’s karma that Kenma totally doesn’t need right now.

 

            “Kyoutani, don’t you think Kuroo’s such a _romantic?_ Oh, Kenma, are you _blushing?_ ”

 

            “He’s blushing,” Kyoutani confirms, amusement laced through his voice. Kenma scowls.

 

            “I think he has a crush. Don’t you? I mean I can see _why_. I’d fall for any guy who put a flower behind _my_ ear.”

 

            Kenma pushes Semi off his back and turns on the stool to glower at him and Kyoutani. “Don’t you both have work to be doing?”

 

            Semi looks to Kyoutani with wide eyes and a gasp. “Oh _shit_.”

 

            Kyoutani mirrors his feigned shock. “ _Fuck_.”

 

            “We have _work!_ We’re supposed to be doing our _jobs!_ ”

 

            Kenma rolls his eyes as Semi starts laughing and a smile slips onto Kyoutani’s face. “You’re both assholes.”

 

            “You _love_ us,” Semi replies.

 

            “We’re not the only ones he loves.”

 

            “ _Kentarou._ ”

 

            Semi drops his head onto Kyoutani’s shoulder, trying to smother his snickering into his sweatshirt. Maybe Kenma’s not a bad person. Maybe he just needs better friends.

 

            Kyoutani, at least, gives him an extra hundred yen.

 

* * *

 

            He avoids working on Sundays as much as he possibly can. It’s his one day off if he can help it, free from classes and the flower shop. Of course, it didn’t take long for someone to monopolize his free time, and now every week, Kenma ends up tucked into the back corner of the library or some local café with Shirabu to review for exams or finish homework or listen to his friend bitch about _whatever_. Usually Goshiki. Sometimes the book he’s reading.

 

            This week it’s a small diner across town from Kenma’s apartment, settled in a corner booth while Shirabu finishes a project for their web design class. Kenma finished it days earlier, and is just listening to his running commentary on what total bullshit it all is while he plays on his handheld.

 

            “There’s no practical use for this,” Shirabu says, glaring at his laptop screen. “The entire coding method is outdated, it’s _tedious_. A waste of my fucking time.”

 

            “You like this coding method,” Kenma replies. “And busywork. You’re just mad that it looks like shit.”

 

            “Fuck you! Fuck you, it does _not._ “ Kenma waits, tapping buttons on his DS. After a moment, Shirabu groans and lets his head drop onto the table. “Fuck. It looks like shit.”

 

            “Color scheme’s all wrong,” Kenma tells him. “And your font choice sucks. I don’t think you know how symmetry works—“

 

            “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?” Shirabu mutters. He turns the laptop towards Kenma. “Work your stupid magic.”

 

            Kenma sighs and sets his DS onto the table. It’s something he’d never admit to Shirabu, but he really doesn’t mind that he’s done half his coursework for him this semester, between helping with all the homework assignments and touching up his projects. Because this is something Kenma actually _likes_ doing, as opposed to Shirabu, who’s only taking it because it’s required of him. He’s wants nothing to do with web design after he’s graduated, whereas Kenma _does_. If anything, it’s extra practice for Kenma. And the fact that Shirabu’s his friend so of course Kenma’s going to help him — but Shirabu never needs to find that part of it out.

 

            There’s also the bonus of the fact that Shirabu always pays for his food to thank him.

 

            Shirabu watches him work for a minute, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. The diner is quiet and nice and _cold_ , and Kenma really wants something warm. He wants the pile of blankets waiting for him at his apartment. A thicker sweater. Hot chocolate.

 

            He actually . . . really wants hot chocolate. He tries to be irritated at the fact that he knows exactly where he wants to get some as well, but he can’t fake it. It’s been a few days since he was last over there, anyway.

 

            He doesn’t even try to make the excuse that it’s for the cat this time.

 

            “No, keep the purple,” Shirabu tells him when Kenma goes to make a change. “Change the other colors if you have to, but keep that one.”

 

            Kenma rolls his eyes, but does what he asks. Shirabu’s too particular about everything for his own good, and Kenma learned early on that it’s better to just go along with whatever it is he wants.

 

            He does the basic groundwork for fixing the mess that is Shirabu’s project, deciding he can adjust all the rest of the coding himself. They’ve been sitting in the diner for hours now, and Kenma wants to go. He wants a warm drink. Shirabu owes him as much.

 

            Kenma turns the laptop back to Shirabu and picks his game up again. “You can finish it. Shouldn’t take long. Can we go soon?”

 

            “Why, have plans?” Shirabu scoffs.

 

            “Yeah, you owe me a drink,” Kenma tells him. “I want hot chocolate.”

 

            “And you can’t get that here?” Still, Shirabu closes his laptop and sticks it back into his bag.

 

            “Somewhere better.”

 

            Shirabu eyes him, and Kenma hopes to whatever gods might be listening that he hasn’t spoken to Semi lately. That he has no idea that Kuroo or Cat’s Cradle exist. It’s one thing for the rest of them at the flower shop to know, and another thing for _Shirabu_ to catch wind of Kenma’s crush. Especially with the fact that Kenma spent _months_ teasing him relentlessly over his feelings for Goshiki, and—

 

            Okay, maybe this really is all karma for all the shit he’s given his friends in the past.

 

            “Whatever. You lead the way, I guess.”

 

            It’s miserably cold out, despite the fact that spring is coming up and it should be _warmer_ than it has been. Kenma grimaces and takes a step closer to Shirabu as they make their way down the street. It’s only a couple blocks to Cat’s Cradle. He can manage that, at least.

 

            Shirabu’s phone goes off in his pocket, and he hums as he reads over the text. “I’ll pay for your drink, but then I’ve gotta go.”

 

            Kenma glances over at him. Usually, Shirabu goes with Kenma all the way back near his apartment, with the fact that he lives the next block over. But he notes the color rising to his cheeks, how his lips are tilting into half a smile. Of course.

 

            “Tsutomu?” he guesses.

 

            “Tsutomu.”

 

            There’s a comment Kenma wants to make, something that’ll make Shirabu scowl and snap at him, but he figures that if Shirabu’s got a chance at meeting Kuroo right now, it’s better to hold back. There’s too high a chance that Shirabu will catch onto the fact that Kenma has . . . _feelings_ for Kuroo, and he’s not about to endure taunting from _him_ if he can help it.

 

            “Thought you all got your coffee from where Taichi works,” Shirabu comments when Kenma pulls the door to Cat’s Cradle open.

 

            “That’s just Atsumu,” Kenma tells him. “And he only likes it for Kawanishi. This one’s better.”

 

            “Oh! Kenma!”

 

            Shirabu huffs a laugh when Kenma turns to see Kuroo behind the counter. Whatever expression he isn’t quick enough to cover up leaves Shirabu leaning into his side and murmuring, “And _why_ is it better?”

 

            “Shut up,” Kenma hisses. He elbows Shirabu in the side when he starts snickering, and that only serves to make him laugh harder. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought Shirabu here. Maybe he should’ve just taken the money for the drink and let him go off to Goshiki.

 

            He doesn’t see Pit anywhere, but the flowers are still bright and cheery on the counter. Kuroo’s got a soft smile on his face. Subtle and sweet. Kenma’s words die on his tongue.

 

            “Were you working earlier?” Kuroo asks, leaning on the counter in front of him.

 

            Kenma shakes his head, tries to be as discreet as possible in kicking at Shirabu’s ankles. He’s got no other way to send the message to _stop staring_.

 

            “Was doing homework with Kenjirou,” Kenma says with a half-hearted gesture towards Shirabu. “Or for him, really.”

 

            “ _Not true_ ,” Shirabu argues, shoving his shoulder into Kenma’s. “I did most of my own work. You helped with _one_ thing.”

 

            “Calculus.”

 

            “ _Two_ things.”

 

            Kuroo’s smile widens, and Kenma’s breath catches. He looks away, a decidedly bad idea when his gaze lands on the flowers. The dahlias.

 

            _Unfair unfair unfair._

 

            Shirabu’s going to catch him blushing, and _that_ is definitely something Kenma has done nothing to deserve.

 

            “I almost stopped in today, too,” Kuroo muses, resting his chin in his hand. “Had some fresh pastries, thought you might like some. But then we got busy, and I didn’t really have the chance. You can still have one, if you’d like. I promise they’re good.”

 

            “So I take it you didn’t make them?” Kenma teases, glancing back to Kuroo.

 

            Kuroo manages to look annoyed for hardly more than a second before he’s sputtering out a laugh, terrible and hideous and so _nice_ and it really, _really_ isn’t fair. “ _Ouch,_ Kenma. I’ll have you know I’m a wonderful baker. And it’s just by _chance_ that I didn’t make these.”

 

            Kenma doesn’t even try to hold back his smile. “I’ll just take your word for it. We just ate, though. I was just hoping for a drink.”

 

            “Let me guess: surprise you?” Kuroo replies. Kenma nods. “Then I’ll get right on that.”

 

            Once Kuroo’s turned away, Kenma turns a glare on Shirabu. He has this stupid gloating smirk on his face and it’s so _stupid_. It’s like he’s forgotten all that time he spent crushing pathetically on Goshiki.

 

            Or maybe that he’s _remembered_ that, and also remembered all of Kenma’s running commentary on it.

 

            That’s probably it.

 

            Kenma’s going to start to be a better person.

 

            “I don’t need to take this from you,” Kenma says.

 

            “Oh, but you _deserve_ it,” Shirabu replies. “I can’t believe you have a _crush_.”

 

            “Shut up.”

 

            “All this time you spend giving all of us hell, and here _you_ are.”

 

            “Shut up!”

 

            “That’s so sweet, Kenma,” Shirabu coos. He reaches out to ruffle Kenma’s hair, and Kenma slaps his hand away. “That’s really adorable.” Shirabu is decidedly spending too much time around Semi, and it’s so—

 

            “Salted caramel hot chocolate,” Kuroo says, returning to the counter. He flashes an easy smile as he passes the cup over.

 

            — _unfair_.

 

            Shirabu looks between Kenma and Kuroo, then pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “You take this,” he says, passing bills over to Kenma, “and I’m leaving. Tsutomu’s waiting. I _will_ call you later, though.”

 

            “I’m blocking your number,” Kenma tells him. “Do your own project next time.”

 

            “ _Gladly_.”

 

            “You know, I was just going to give this to you on the house,” Kuroo says after Shirabu’s already out the door. “He didn’t have to pay anything.”

 

            “Let him,” Kenma says, leaning onto the counter. There’s too little space between him and Kuroo. Still, he doesn’t move. “He owes me money either way. I paid for his half of lunch.”

 

            “So he’s a friend, then?” Kuroo asks. There’s some part of the question that he’s leaving out, Kenma knows, but he can’t pin down _what_.

 

            “A friend,” Kenma says. Not that he’d ever call Shirabu that to his face.

 

            Kuroo nods, and reaches out towards the flowers. His fingers play over the petals, light. Careful.

 

            “You actually came just at the right time,” he says after a moment. “I’m leaving soon. Have to get to the book store before it closes, pick something up for class.”

 

            “What book?” Kenma asks. He lifts the cup of cocoa to his mouth, trying to avoid burning himself. It’s _warm_.

 

            Everything in Cat’s Cradle is _warm_.

 

            Warm, seeping through the cup in Kenma’s hands. Warm, reaching down from the overhead lights. Warm, slipping across Kuroo’s lips in an easy smile as he tells Kenma the book’s title, what it’s about. Warm and smooth and comfortable.

 

            “If . . . If you aren’t busy,” Kuroo says, “you could come along. It’s not a far walk. Just a couple streets over.”

 

            Kenma thinks about how miserably cold it is outside, and the fluffy blankets waiting back at his apartment. He finds himself saying, “Okay.”

 

            Kuroo rests his folded arms on top of the counter. _Too close_.

 

            Kenma doesn’t move.

 

            He stays where he is and sips at his drink and asks Kuroo, “What’s your favorite drink?”

 

            “My favorite?”

 

            “Mm.”

 

            “I think . . . Peppermint cocoa. There’s something about it, you know? It’s subtle. I’ll make it for you sometime.”

 

            “I’d like that.”

 

            _He’s so close._

 

            “You know, it’s only fair that I ask you about your favorite flower,” Kuroo says. “Since you’ve never told me.”

 

            “You never asked.” Kenma sips at his drink, eyes the dahlias. “Gardenias,” he says. “I like . . . gardenias.”

 

            Kuroo manages to catch his eye, and Kenma already knows the question that’s coming next.

 

            “And what do they mean?”

 

            Kenma feels his face warm, and he drops his gaze. “Um. It’s—”

 

            “Tetsurou, what are you still doing here? I’m not paying you to work overtime.”

 

            Kuroo jolts upright and turns to the woman coming out from the back. “You’re not paying me at all.”

 

            “Tell that to your school tuition.” She looks past Kuroo, right to Kenma. “Making friends?”

 

            “ _Okaasan_.”

 

            “And you’re not going to introduce me? Who raised you?”

 

            “You tell me.” Kuroo looks over at Kenma, and his cheeks are the faintest pink, and _God_. “Uh, this is Kenma. He’s the one who puts the flowers together.”

 

            “So _you’re_ the one Tetsurou’s always going out to see,” Kuroo’s mother says. “Your flowers always look _beautiful_.”

 

            Kenma barely gets a _thank you_ out before Kuroo’s stepping around the counter, slipping his apron off. He swings an arm around Kenma’s shoulders and looks to his mother. “Kenma’s actually coming with me to the book store. Which is closing soon. So we’ve got to get going.” He takes two steps back, dragging Kenma with him, before she stops him.

 

            “Get your coat,” she scolds. “You’ll freeze, and I’m not going to listen to you whine later.”

 

            “I don’t whine,” Kuroo pouts. He slinks into the back for just a moment, and his mother looks down at Kenma. She’s tall.

 

            “You know,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially, “he talks about you. He’s always so happy to go around to your shop.”

 

            “O-oh.” What’s Kenma supposed to say to that? What does that even _mean?_

 

            She smiles, just as warm as Kuroo, and steps back. “At first I thought it was just an excuse to duck out early on Thursdays. But I see now.”

 

            Kenma has no room to think about _that_. Kuroo comes out of the back, pushing his arms through the sleeves of his coat. He’s got a hat pulled down over his ears, hiding the awful, endearing mess of his hair. He grabs a croissant from the bakery case as he passes, mouth twitching into a smile at his mother’s scolding.

 

            “I’ll see you at home!” he calls over his shoulder as he leads Kenma out of Cat’s Cradle. He holds the pastry between his teeth so he can zip his coat, all the way to his chin. Once he has it back in his hand, he beams at Kenma.

 

            And it’s so stupidly cute and Kenma doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

            “Anything you want from the book store?” Kuroo asks as they walk.

 

            The cold nips at Kenma’s cheeks, and all that’s keeping his hands warm is the half-empty cup of cocoa. He wants to lean into Kuroo like he does when he’s with Semi or Atsumu, for warmth, but he hasn’t known Kuroo quite long enough for that, isn’t comfortable enough with the idea of that yet. So he keeps the same cold gap between them as they make their way down the street, and silently hopes the store is as close as Kuroo promises.

 

            “Not sure,” Kenma says. He hasn’t been in one for a while, other than to get required texts for classes. It’s been months since he last wandered through the aisles, seeing what might appeal to him. “I’ll have to look.”

 

            Kuroo hums, perfectly content, and bumps his shoulder against Kenma’s. “Guess so.”

 

            They’re quiet the rest of the walk, which is thankfully short. Kuroo finishes his croissant, and Kenma drinks most of his hot chocolate, and the book store is warm and Kuroo’s face lights up when they step inside.

 

            “It’s been too long since I was here last,” he tells Kenma. “Over a _week_ , Kenma. A whole week.”

 

            The corners of Kenma’s mouth twitch. “How terrible.”

 

            “It _is._ Come on, my book should be back this way.” His fingers brush Kenma’s arm, just barely pulling him forward before his hand is gone. Kenma starts after him.

 

            “Suga’s been complaining about having to read this all week,” Kuroo comments as they walk down the rows of books. “He’s got some weird agenda against it. Think it’s because he knows the ending’s sad. _I_ think that just makes it better. Not everything gets a happy ending.” Kuroo stops in front of a shelf of books, and Kenma watches him scan over it, looking for the one he needs. “Oh, this is a good one. Have you read this one before, Kenma?” He pulls a book off the shelf and flashes the cover Kenma’s way. It’s familiar, something that Kyoutani or Atsumu probably read once.

 

            Kenma shakes his head. “What’s it about?”

 

            He listens to Kuroo recount the book’s summary, how captivating it was, the fact that Oikawa cried when Kuroo gave it to him to read and Suga still gives him shit for it. As if he didn’t cry, too.

 

            “You should read it,” Kuroo tells him. “It’s _amazing_.”

 

            Kenma looks at the book, the detailed cover, reads over the title. And then he turns his gaze onto Kuroo, the eager little half smile on his face. “Okay.”

 

            “Really?” Kuroo looks surprised for half a second, and when Kenma nods, he grins. “Just, usually Oohira’s the only one who takes up my recommendations, I didn’t think— Sorry. Um. If you really want to, I have my own copy you can borrow. Somewhere. I’ll find it, promise.”

 

            Kenma smiles. “Okay.”

 

            Kuroo finds his book, but they still spend nearly another hour walking through the store. Kuroo points out some of his favorites, and it’s _sweet_ how excited he gets talking about them. He asks Kenma about the book’s he’s read and liked, listening intently to every word and—

 

            _God_.

 

            It’s not _fair._

 

            “Are you headed home?“ Kuroo asks as they step back outside, both of them having bought a couple new books. Kenma grimaces at how cold it is. At some point he’s just going to steal Terushima’s absurdly puffy coat. As stupid as it looks and as _bright_ the yellow color is, it’s _warm_. Kenma knows from all the times he’s used it for a blanket when he’s sitting in the flower shop.

 

            Kuroo doesn’t even seem fazed by the weather. _He’s_ probably warm.

 

            Kenma glances away from him. “Think I’m going to stop at the flower shop. Have something to ask Eita. And the bus doesn’t run for another hour, I don’t really want to wait out in the cold.”

 

            “Not a fan of the weather?” Kuroo teases. Kenma scowls, earning a laugh. “Guess not. If you’re taking the bus, are you that far from here?”

 

            “Across town,” Kenma tells him.

 

            “Really? So then . . . does your friend, Kenjirou? Kenjirou. Does he live near here?”

 

            “Mm, no. He lives by me. He just likes the diner that’s over here.” Maybe Terushima’s working today. Maybe Kenma can steal his coat to wear on the bus home. “And we went to the café that’s by us last week, so.”

 

            “You don’t have a library or anything to go to?” Kuroo laughs. “A living room in one of your apartments?”

 

            Kenma crinkles his nose at that idea. “I don’t like people at my apartment,” he says. “Everyone always moves things around without putting them back, and it’s—“ He shakes his head. “And Kenjirou’s apartment is shit anyway.”

 

            Kuroo grins, clearly trying to hold back another laugh. “I see. So you’d rather get on a bus to go all the way across town.”

 

            “For good food,” Kenma says. _And his favorite coffee shop_.

 

            No.

 

            Well, maybe.

 

            “Understandable,” Kuroo nods. “Well, if I can’t walk you _home_ , then I can at least bring you to the shop. It’s the least I can do, right?”

 

            Kenma doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows that there’s something about that that means something and that his face feels warm and all he can do is nod and think about how close Kuroo is right now. How bright his smile is.

 

            Kuroo walks with him back to the shop, teasing Kenma when he makes a face at the cold breeze. He comments on some of the stores they pass, on the things displayed in the windows. There’s a piece of art he gets excited over, and it’s _cute_ and totally not fair and if Kenma didn’t know better, he might take his hand.

 

            But that’d be stupid.

 

            And Kenma knows he can’t.

 

            So instead he lets Kuroo pause with him right outside the flower shop, where he _knows_ whoever is at the counter can definitely see them if they’re looking. He lets him pause and offer a slow, easy smile and tell him he’ll see him again soon.

 

            And Kenma smiles back. It’s a promise, he knows, that it will be _soon_.

 

            There’s half a moment before Kuroo turns to go, to leave Kenma at the shop, where it looks like he might say something more. But then he’s waving and heading off and Kenma goes inside.

 

            Atsumu’s at the counter with Semi, both of them wearing matching grins as they watch Kenma come in.

 

            He’s resigned himself to the fact that he probably deserves this. On some level, he really does.

 

            “Fancy seeing you here,” Atsumu says, “on your day off.”

 

            “In the neighborhood?” Semi asks. “On a _date?_ “

 

            “Not a date,” Kenma grumbles. He sits on the stool opposite Semi. Where Kuroo usually waits while Kenma’s putting together his arrangements.

 

            “Looked like a date,” Atsumu says.

 

            “You’re _blushing_ ,” Semi adds.

 

            “ _Not a date_ ,” Kenma insists. “I was . . . over here with Kenjirou. Working on homework.”

 

            “I didn’t see a Kenjirou out there,” Semi says. “Care to share how he got replaced with Kuroo?”

 

            Kenma scowls. Maybe coming to him for advice wasn’t the best idea. “Kenjirou owed me a drink, so we went to Cat’s Cradle. And Kuroo was leaving to go to the book store. He . . . invited me to come with.”

 

            “Do you think his face can get any redder?” Atsumu murmurs to Semi.

 

            “ _Shut up_. Shut up, it wasn’t a date, but I . . .”

 

            He’s really starting to feel the regret.

 

            “But _what?_ “ Semi prods. “Wait, wait. Hang on. ‘Tsumu, go get—“

 

            “ _Yeah_.” Atsumu jumps off his stool and goes into the back room, returning a moment later with Kyoutani in tow.

 

            This was definitely a mistake.

 

            Kenma sighs and buries his face in his hands. Maybe he should just ask Shirabu. He ended up with Goshiki in the end, didn’t he? Come to think of it, he’s the _only_ one in a real relationship, and no one here actually knows shit about how to actually get anywhere with their feelings—

 

            “What’s the matter, Ken-chan?” Atsumu coos.

 

            Kenma lifts his head to snarl at him. “Don’t call me that. That’s revolting.”

 

            “It was a poor decision on my part, I’m sorry. Now—“

 

            “ _What’s going on?_ “ Semi asks.

 

            Kenma glowers between the three of them, but after a moment he drops it and folds his arms on top of the counter, resting his chin on top. “I like him,” he mutters. “And I don’t know what to do.”

 

            “Oh, _Kenma_.”

 

            “That’s so _sweet_.”

 

            “Thought you didn’t do crushes.”

 

            “He does crushes. Did you see his face after the dahlia?”

 

            “What dahlia? Eita, _what dahlia—_ “

 

            “ _Shut up_ ,” Kenma huffs. “I should’ve gone to literally anyone else. _Yuuji_ would’ve been more help.”

 

            “ _Ouch_ ,” Atsumu pouts. “Are you saying my dating expertise is worthless?”

 

            “What expertise?” Kyoutani snorts.

 

            “He’s talking about how pathetically he pines after Kawanishi,” Semi says. “All the whining he does about how pretty he is and his shitty flirting.”

 

            “You mean like you whine about how pretty Osamu is?” Kenma scoffs. “You’re not any better—“

 

            “ _Osamu?_ “ Atsumu cries. “What could you possibly see in _Osamu?_ “

 

            Semi looks over at him. “It’s like, you know, when you two were in the womb together, he absorbed all the personality.”

 

            “The morality,” Kenma adds with a nod.

 

            “Empathy,” Kyoutani says.

 

            “Good sense of humor. Good _looks_ ,” Semi says.

 

            “He really is the better twin.”

 

            “Fuck you,” Atsumu bites.

 

            “Think he’d rather your brother did that, too,” Kenma comments, lips twitching into a smile.

 

            “ _Kenma_.”

 

            “We’re getting off track here,” Semi cuts in. “Kenma’s got a _crush_ and he wants _help_ with it.”

 

            “Just give him roses,” Kyoutani says.

 

            “Why don’t _you_ give _Shigeru_ roses?” Kenma counters.

 

            “Because that’d be fucking basic,” Atsumu says.

 

            “Oi!”

 

            “Listen, all you’ve gotta do,” Atsumu goes on, ignoring Kyoutani shoving at him, “is go up to him, and ask for a map.”

 

            “A map?” Kenma asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

            “Atsumu, don’t—“

 

            “Eita, shut up. Listen, ask for a map. And tell him it’s because you’re getting _lost in his eyes_.”

 

            Kenma gives Atsumu a look of utter disgust and turns away from him, facing Kyoutani and Semi instead. “Atsumu’s out.”

 

            “Ask if he’s from Tennessee—“

 

            “ _Out_.”

 

            “Roses. Sunflowers. Gardenias,” Kyoutani tells him.

 

            “That’s too obvious, _no_ ,” Kenma says. “I’m not giving him flowers. Eita?”

 

            “Just tell him,” Semi says.

 

            “ _Just tell him,_ “ Kenma repeats, pitching his voice to mock him. “ _No._ “

 

            “You asked for a suggestion, and I gave one,” Semi responds. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

 

            “You could at least be _realistic_.”

 

            “Eita’s just forgetting that you’re a pathetic little—“

 

            “Remember that time Kawanishi came in and you got so distracted you walked right into a shelf and gave yourself a black eye?”

 

            “What the _fuck_ , Kenma? We agreed we weren’t ever going to mention that again.”

 

            “No we didn’t,” Kyoutani says. “You _told_ us not to bring it up.”

 

            “We never agreed,” Semi adds.

 

            “I could text Osamu right now and tell him you’re in love with him,” Atsumu growls.

 

            “I can text Taichi?”

 

            “ _No_.”

 

            “Kenma, roses.”

 

            “ _Kentarou_.”

 

            “Forget-me-nots.”

 

            “You’re all useless.” Kenma buries his face in his arms and sighs. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Just that Kuroo’s smile is something like the sun and Kenma . . .

 

            Kenma is probably totally screwed.

 

            “You’ll get him,” Semi says. He feels a hand in his hair, gently combing through it. “You’ve just gotta not ask Atsumu for advice.”

 

            “Oh, fuck you, Eita.”

 

            “What? You couldn’t even come up with _good_ pick-up lines.”

 

            “Your suggestion was just to tell him,” Kyoutani juts in. “You’re not much better.”

 

            “Yours was flowers!”

 

            “You all suck,” Kenma murmurs. He lifts his head enough to look at his friends, all crowded together on the other side of the counter. “Maybe I’ll just take Yuu’s approach.”

 

            “Noya didn’t do shit,” Kyoutani says.

 

            “He waited until _Asahi_ broke and confessed,” Semi says.

 

            “Exactly,” Kenma mutters. “And yet, he’s the only one who’s actually in a relationship.”

 

            “You’re better than that,” Semi huffs, tugging a knot out of Kenma’s hair. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

            Atsumu nods in agreement.

 

            There’s a moment of silence, and then Kyoutani breaks it. “So tell us about your date.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Kenma picks a leaf off a long rose stem and tosses it into the small pile beside him and Semi. He’s so over roses. Over them and how cliché they are and don’t people know there are other flowers that can stand for love? For longing and fascination and trust. People could stand to change things up a bit.

 

            “What if he’s the kind of person who asks for a table instead of a booth?” Kenma asks from his seat between Semi’s legs. Semi’s leaning back against the front counter, leaving just enough room between himself and Kenma’s back to work with his own flowers.

 

            “Dump him on the spot,” Semi tells him. “What kind of monster would do that?”

 

            “Atsumu.” He tilts his head back to look at Semi. “You think Osamu’s got that trait, too?”

 

            Semi gasps. “Don’t even say that. _No_ , Kenma. No.”

 

            Kenma’s mouth ticks up into a smile. “Just a thought.”

 

            “I can’t _be-leaf_ you would even suggest that,” Semi says, tossing a leaf into their pile. Kenma snorts a laugh.

 

            “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sets his rose to the side and reaches for another. “What if he puts milk in his tea?”

 

            “What kind of heathen are you crushing on?” Terushima asks from above them, where he’s sitting on the stool.

 

            “Kenma’s just second-guessing himself,” Semi says. “For no reason.”

 

            “I don’t want to get into anything I’ll regret,” Kenma replies. “Like this friendship, for example.”

 

            “Fuck you!” Semi laughs. “Asshole. I _hope_ he puts milk in his tea.”

 

            “I hope when you and Osamu go on your first date, he asks for a table.”

 

            “I hope Kuroo’s the type of person to eat the Oreo cookie before the cream.”

 

            Kenma looks back with an indignant look. “Get out. Go. _Leaf_.”

 

            Semi starts cackling then, dropping his head onto Kenma’s shoulder. Terushima huffs a laugh, face breaking into a grin. Kenma’s so distracted by it that he almost misses the chime of the door being opened.

 

            He looks up to the clock. When did it get so late in the afternoon? He thought he still had more time. More time before—

 

            Terushima nudges Kenma with his foot, mouthing Kuroo’s name. Semi straightens, pushing at Kenma’s back until he moves to stand. Sure enough, Kuroo’s walking across the shop, with a tray of drinks and a brown paper bag bearing the Cat’s Cradle logo in his hands.

 

            Terushima gives Kenma his place on the stool and offers Kuroo a cheery wave before slipping into the back room, Semi right behind him. They could stand to be less obvious.

 

            They leave the door open.

 

            Snooping assholes.

 

            “Hey, Kenma,” Kuroo says, smiling as he gets to the counter. He offers the tray and bag, pushing them across the countertop towards Kenma. “Uh, my mom insisted I bring these over. For you. And, uh, your friends.” He pulls the hat off his head, and his hair is even messier than usual, and it’s not _fair_ that it’s _endearing_. “Apple tarts. And peppermint hot chocolate.”

 

            Kenma smiles. “Thank you. Flowers?”

 

            “Surprise me,” Kuroo says, grinning at him. He leans his arms onto the counter and watches while Kenma picks up the drinks and the bag of tarts and slips into the back. He lets Terushima and Semi take some for themselves while he picks out the flowers. Flowers for _longing_ , for _fascination_. Flowers for _love_.

 

            Semi gives him a look at the choices that Kenma elects to ignore. He takes the remaining cup of cocoa and some of the small tarts for himself, balancing it all precariously in his arms as he makes his way back out to the counter.

 

            “Busy day?” Kuroo asks.

 

            Kenma shrugs. “Someone’s picking up this stupidly specific order later, with all these roses. For a confession or apology or something. Eita and I got stuck with that. But nothing else, really. Busy at the coffee shop?”

 

            He wants to delay the inevitable, where Kuroo asks about the flowers and their meanings. Wants to keep him talking for as long as he can before he has to tell him. Not that Kuroo has to take any meaning in it. Maybe he’ll decide they’re just flowers, and he won’t think anything about whether Kenma had any specific intentions when he picked them out.

 

            Or maybe he will read into it.

 

            Which is why Kenma wants to put off telling him for as long as he possibly can.

 

            “Mm, it’s always busy there,” Kuroo says. “I left before the last rush, but, you know. Busy city, lots of people like coffee. _And_ my pastries.”

 

            “You sure it’s _yours_ they’re looking for?” Kenma jokes.

 

            “ _Kenma_. Of _course_ they’re after mine. I’ll have you know they’re _delicious_. I’m a master baker. Try the tarts, I’m telling you.”

 

            “Are you sure you made them?” Kenma asks. “Look to good to be yours.”

 

            “Of course I made them! Try them, they’re the best tarts you’re ever going to eat.”

 

            And of course they’re amazing. Of _course_. The tarts are and the hot chocolate is and it’s not _fair_. It’s not fair that Kenma’s looking at him and thinking about warmth and dahlias, that Kuroo gets to do this to him.

 

            He doesn’t say anything about that, though. He’s not quite that blunt, especially with his feelings. Instead, he asks, “Start your book yet?”

 

            “ _Yes_.” Kuroo starts to tell Kenma about it. The characters and the writing style, what he loves and what he hates. He tells him about all the texts Suga’s sent him about how mad he is about where it’s going, that he _knows_ it’s going to end terribly.

 

            “He just doesn’t appreciate a good sad ending,” Kuroo says. “Oh! Oh, hey, I have that other book— I was going to bring it to give to you. Would’ve had it if Pit hadn’t distracted me, attacking my shoes.”

 

            “I don’t believe you,” Kenma says, reaching for a spool of ribbon.

 

            “I mean it! I’m going to get you this book, I swear—“

 

            “No, I mean . . . Pit would never do such a thing,” Kenma says, gaze flickering towards Kuroo. “He’s an angel.”

 

            “He’s a _bastard_.”

 

            “I’m not buying it,” Kenma says.

 

            “Because he _likes_ you,” Kuroo huffs. “You don’t see his true form.”

 

            A laugh escapes Kenma before he can stop it. “True form?”

 

            Kuroo’s so clearly trying to bite back a smile, and definitely isn’t succeeding. Kenma’s cheeks feel too warm. “He’s Hell’s cat, Kenma. I’m telling you. You’ll see, one day.”

 

            “Whatever you say.”

 

            “ _I mean it_. He’s the devil. Otherwise I’d be giving you one of the greatest books ever written right now, and you would love it.”

 

            “Sure. How’re your other classes?”

 

            He manages to keep Kuroo talking all the way through when he’s tying a bow around the last arrangement. He’s waiting now, for the question to come. For Kuroo to ask him what the flowers are, and what they all mean, and—

 

            It never comes.

 

            Kenma’s heart is in his throat the entire time he’s ringing Kuroo up, fumbling with the keys on the cash register. He’s waiting, waiting, waiting, but Kuroo never asks. He’s out the door with a wide grin and a promise to see Kenma again soon without a word about the flowers and their meanings.

 

            Semi’s just as bemused as Kenma when he comes out from the back. Because that’s what they’d been counting on. That was the stupid _plan_ they’d come up with, and it didn’t _work_. Maybe Kenma shouldn’t have tried so hard to direct the conversation elsewhere. Maybe he should’ve just let things proceed the way they always did, because now the chance has slipped through his fingers and there’s _no way_ he’s going to try _that_ again.

 

            He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with his feelings and _definitely_ doesn’t know how he’ll get them across to Kuroo.

 

            It’s later in the evening, when Kenma’s on his couch at home, reading through his calculus textbook, that he gets a text. His screen lights up with the notification, and Kenma snorts at the fact that the contact name still reads as _Cat Guy_. He never bothered to change it. Never _thought_ to.

 

            He reads over the message. A short _q: are you working tomorrow morning?_

 

            He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, trying to think about where this might be going. He taps out a simple _yes_ and sends it, only to receive an _okay_ in response.

 

            And that’s that.

 

            He definitely doesn’t send a series of questioning texts to Semi and Kyoutani about it within the hours before he goes to sleep.

 

            He would never.

 

* * *

 

 

            It’s cold. Stupidly cold and raining and Kenma’s jacket doesn’t have a hood. It’s cold, and it’s too early to be awake. He hates coming in right when the shop opens.

 

            He’d rather be in bed, curled in a mound of blankets and finishing his web design homework, ignoring all Shirabu’s texts requesting help.

 

            But instead he’s trudging down the street, sticking close to the buildings so the awnings give him at least _some_ reprieve from the drizzle that started just as he was leaving his apartment. He’s still cold and wet by the time he reaches the shop. Cold and wet and miserable, and Kuroo hadn’t sent him any additional texts, and his fingers are starting to feel numb.

 

            The door is locked when Kenma gets there, and all the lights are still off inside, which means he’s gotten there before Kyoutani. He sighs and starts to search inside his backpack for his key. It’s there somewhere, but Kenma hasn’t really used it in weeks. He’s relied on the fact that there’s always someone there earlier than him to open, someone staying later than him to close. And of course that has to come and bite him in the ass _now_.

 

            He’s just reaching for the glint of metal at the bottom of his bag when he hears his name called, and—

 

            And there’s Kuroo, walking too fast down the street, coat zipped to his chin and a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

 

            Kenma doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to do with the pink tint of Kuroo’s cheeks or the fact that the flowers in the small bouquet are all ones Kenma put in the arrangements for Cat’s Cradle the previous afternoon.

 

            “Kuroo?”

 

            “ _Kenma._ “ Kuroo stops just in front of him, flushed and panting and _how quickly did he rush over here?_ “I, uh. I . . .” He clears his throat, passes a book out to Kenma with his other hand. “I have this for you. Like I promised. And . . .” Kenma takes the book, holding it close to his chest while Kuroo tries to find the rest of his words. “I forgot to ask, yesterday, what the flowers meant. And so I looked them up and— and I’m sorry these are from the grocery store. It’s all that was open. But I wanted you to have these.”

 

            Kenma slowly reaches out to take them, hoping Kuroo thinks that his cheeks are turning red from the cold and nothing else.

 

            “Carnations. Camellias. Gardenias.”

 

            Kenma nods. “Fascination. Longing . . . Secret love.”

 

            Kuroo’s biting his lip, and Kenma wants to—

 

            Wants to—

 

            “I . . . I like you,” Kuroo says. “A lot.”

 

            _Say something_.

 

            _Say something_.

 

            _Say literally anything it’s not that hard—_

 

            “You . . .”

 

            _Use your_ words.

 

            Kenma carefully sets the book and flowers onto the small, still dry mat in front of the door and steps closer to Kuroo. He can feel the rain falling on top of his head, but his fingers are reaching for Kuroo, brushing against his hand.

 

            “Eita helped me pick the flowers,” he tells Kuroo. “For their meanings. Flowers that aren’t roses because that’s stupid and cliché—“ Kuroo breathes a laugh, and Kenma’s heart catches when their fingers wind up twined together. “I thought you’d ask about them. You always ask about them. But you _didn’t_ and I—“ Kenma swallows, forces himself not to drop his gaze. His voice is quieter than he wants it to be when he says, “I like you. A lot.”

 

            And Kuroo’s smile is bright when it slips across his face, his touch gentle when he brings his free hand to Kenma’s cheek.

 

            Light and careful, the same way he treats the delicate flower petals.

 

            Kenma pushes up on his toes, braces his other hand against Kuroo’s chest. He’s never been quite so aware of his own heartbeat.

 

            It’s slow and sweet when Kuroo kisses him. Slow and sweet and _warm_. Kuroo is _warm_ , and the cold leaves Kenma’s mind as he pulls him closer. Leaves his mind and his fingers and toes until all he is is warm and content, standing in the rain with Kuroo’s touch light on his skin.

 

            When Kuroo pulls back, he’s grinning, and Kenma probably doesn’t deserve this. Probably doesn’t deserve something this _nice_.

 

            But, he thinks as he pulls Kuroo back in, that doesn’t mean he won’t gladly take it.


End file.
